Acquisitions & Reparations
by Laota
Summary: Jack tells Will and Elizabeth a tale of other cursed treasure from his past when he and Bootstrap were crewed under Captain Rafferty along the Gold Coast. Warning: Quite long!


TITLE: Acquisitions & Reparations  
AUTHOR: Laota French  
WRITTEN: January-Febuary, 2004  
RATING: Arrr! ...No, seriously, PG 13  
SUMMARY: Jack tells Will and Elizabeth a tale of other cursed treasure from his past -- when he and Bootstrap were crewed under Captain Rafferty along the Gold Coast. (Notice the makings of the mythic, self-promoting story Jack starts to tell Will and Elizabeth -- certain grandiose details contradict the events of the flashback. This was intentional :D)  
DISCLAIMER: Based on the characters and story of PotC: Curse of the Black Pearl, and the foundation of "Andvarinaut". No sir, I don't own 'em, but I ain't profitin', so don't ye be suin' me! 

It was a warm night in Tortuga. The usual riots irrupted all over the costal town while, in the dark blue shadows beside the docks, Will Turner struggled to drag a rowboat ashore, leaving scrapes and tracks in the sand behind him. Elizabeth Swan stood along side him on the shore, Will having given her the job of carrying their lantern. She sighed sympathetically as she watched him exert himself. 

"You're sure you don't need a hand?" she asked him again, for the third time that hour. 

"_No,_" he said quickly, barely having the breath to respond. "_Nearly there_." 

"I'm going to help you-." she began sharply, making to put the lantern down. 

"_Keep the light up,_" he grunted, "Please, I need you to..." 

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and lifted the lantern, the dim, golden glow lighting up her features. She squinted through the darkness, back at the charter ship that brought them. "You think they'll be alright?" she asked. 

"Should be," Will panted, "their far enough out for the scoundrels here to leave them be." With one last noise of exhaustion, he pulled the boat to a safe enough distance to avoid the tides for a few hours. He stood back proudly, breathing deep and wiping his face on his sleeve before giving Elizabeth a boyish grin. "To the Faithful Bride, then," he said, rejoining her and taking the lantern. "You might want to stay close to me," he advised, before opening the lantern and blowing out the light. "This is a very dangerous town." 

"I doubt it's anything I can't handle," Elizabeth assured him. 

"Still," he said, putting the lantern in the boat, "better safe than sorry." Elizabeth mouthed "_alright_" to herself and the two of them headed up the beach and into town. 

Not long after starting out, they found themselves surrounded by the sites and stenches of the city's nightlife, dodging fights, carriages, and gunfire to The Faithful Bride. 

"You never mentioned the smell," Elizabeth noted with a grimace, trying not to complain as carefully they entered the tavern & inn. 

"I'd actually forgotten," Will laughed. "Certainly is memorable, though, isn't it?" 

"_Oh, yes._" 

Will took her hand and brought her with him up to the bar; he prompted a goat down the counter and leaned over to the barkeeper, a tall, thick-necked man with a large mustach and scowling eyes. "Hello, sir!" Will shouted over the noise. The barkeeper turned to him, unimpressed. "I need to know the whereabouts of a Mr. Smith and company! Do you know where they are?" 

"What's the phrase?" the keep asked in a gravelly voice. 

Will gave Elizabeth a confident glance before leaning in further and saying at a safe volume in the bartender's ear, "The cognitive condition of one who understands." 

The barkeep nodded. "Upstairs, door three, on the left." Will passed him a coin purse and took Elizabeth up to the second floor inn. The halls there were littered with broken bottles, barn yard animals ran frantically about, and a drunken fellow sat at the end of the hall, trying to feed whisky to a hissing cat. 

Will thought aloud, "'Door three, on the left.'" He took Elizabeth's hand again and lead her through the small obstical course to their destination. He knokced twice on the door. They heard a quiet rumble from inside the room, creaking floorboards, and eventually two wraps on the other side of the door in turn. Will knocked again, the wrapping returned, then both sides knocking frantically about a dozen times before the door swung open abruptly. 

Jack Sparrow stood casually before them in his usual rumpled splendor, glowering. "I hate that knock," he slurred accusingly. 

"It's _your_ knock," Will reminded. 

Jack's eyes wandered wildly for a moment before narrowing on Will. "Use your deadlights, mate. Just standing about here like a great flogging oaf, you happen to be announcing my presence to the world." He minced grogily into the room with them, promting them in. "Smartly now, children, and close it off behind you." Will nodded and shut the door after himself, dropping the wooden latch. Closing the door didn't lend very much help to stop the noise coming in from the other rooms. Will and Elizabeth looked about the room with concern at the horrid accomodations: ragged cot, dim hearth, a few chairs, and a nasty mess, as though a cannonball had bounced around the room, distroying the other furnishings. It was very dark in comparision to the hallway, and all the windows and the doors to the widow's walk were boarded up. Contentedly kicking clutter out of his path, Jack made his way over to a large, high-backed chair, turned on his heel, and gently droppped back over it, one leg draped over the arm of it. Farely proud of himself, he threw the young couple a wicked look of satisfaction, but his face fell some when they only stared back at him in response. "G'on, catch a seat," he urged, sounding a bit sour under the inebriated tone, "and don't let's all act so pleased to see me." 

"It's _very good_ to see you again, Jack," Elizabeth said kindly, crossing the mess over to sit at a chair opposite him. She smiled, slightly forced, but mostly genuine, as Will picked up an overturned chair and brought it over beside her. "I was hoping we'd get a chance to talk," she went on. 

"Absolutely," Jack said fast, scrunching his nose with conviction and wisking a hand in her direction limp-wristedly, "loud as we please and half-seas-over, we'll have a grand old time of it. So the bird came through alright? Good t'know." 

"Yes," said Will, going slightly pink at the ears, "the parrot was very informitive... You didn't have to teach him _that word_." 

Jack laughed to himself in fond remembrance. "That was two words, technically. Actually, two of my favorties. Thought Cotton would appreciate me adding to his chicken's repertoire -- apparently not." He sat up, adressing them both. "Rather glad you accepted, now, I been somewhat hard pressed for company these days. It stays in this room, but I've gone a bit 'rum' on land, if you can imagine." Elizabeth smiled again, now completely forced. 

"Gone 'rum'?" Will asked them both as he took a seat. 

"_Going mad_," Elizabeth prompted quietly through her teeth, holding her starched, happy smile. 

Will's eyes widened a bit, his brow arched. "_Going_? Oh- no, can't believe it. But about that conversation-." 

"I know what this is," said Jack, smiling at him wickedly and pulling out a flask from inside his belt. 

Will was a little thrown. "No, I don't think you do." 

"'Course I do. You two came to see what all the hush is about, yeah? Curiousity killed the cat, y'know." 

"_No,_ it's-." 

"But since ye dragged it out of me, there's been quite a legal afterburn in the Eastern Caribbean since a couple weeks ago, courtesy of your ole friend Norrie. Some of the crew- some of them, all of them, to that affect- think it best we keep t'shore until he let's up, but I told them, we'd fair better in Spanish waters." 

"James _has_ been rather intense lately," said Elizabeth. "I mean, more so than usual." 

"Can't blame him, I've been a cracker these last months." He raised the flask. "Here's to the one-man riot!" 

"Jack, I meant _the wedding_." 

"Ohh. So this whole longsplice deal's got his little white wig in a snit, eh?" Jack smirked and chuckled to himself, taking shot from his flask. "Outstanding." His eyes wandered back to Will and Elizabeth, who gave him a dissaproving glare, wiping the smirk off his face. "Though...not from your perspective, I imagine. Well, all the luck in the world, kinder. To Youth and Freedom." Having toasted, he knocked the flask back for a good long swig. 

"Well, that's what we wished to discuss," said Will. "Elizabeth- both of us- we were hoping that, since you were basically the one that brought us together, you'd think about attending the ceremony." On the last syllable. Jack began to choke, nearly spewing rum from his nose. Will stood up, not sure if he should help. "Jack? Are you alright?" 

"_No offense meant!_" Jack coughed, bracing himself on the chair. "HCHM! Hchm!" He knocked on his chest with his fist and sat himself up right. "Wrong pipe, wrong pipe! No offense meant!" Slouching low, he rubbed his throat daintily and glanced back to them, frowning piteously, like a depressed terrier. "Not bloody likely, Will." 

Will looked down at him, his expression a torpid mixture of different dissapointments. Jack wouldn't meet his eye. "No?" Will asked, perturbed. "Just like that?" 

"Exacly like that." 

"Is this about Norrington?" 

"That **whole region**, yeah." 

"We could smuggle you in." 

"Stealth?" Jack scoffed. "That's a bit out of your fathom, son. And he'll be expecting it, seeing as we're all so very friendly. Probably followed you here." 

"We snuck out on a chartered ship," Elizabeth chimed in. "No one too fond of the Royal navy." 

Jack gazed at her from the corner of his eye, slightly impressed, but not surprised. "So cloak-and-dagger _is_ your idiom? Sharp lass, but not sharp enough, for I don't seemed to be the least bit rumbled. And what it comes down to is this- I have an abnormally high sensitivity to and low threshold for particular elements: pollens, weeds, hanging, etcetera." 

"You'd be hidden." 

"I'm hidden now!" he sang out euphoniously. 

Will sunk back in his chair, sullen, sighing angrily through his nose. Elizabeth bit her lip for a moment before trying again. "It would mean everything to us-." 

"Don't waste your breath," Will snapped. 

Jack averted his gaze to the fire. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, "but I just don't feature it happening." There were two knocks at the door. Will and Elizabeth looked quizzically to Jack, who shrugged psycotically, picked himself up, and strode to the door, one hip at a time. He started knocking back. 

"Bloomin' secret knock!" swore a voice outside. Jack lifted the latch and stubled back as Mr. Gibbs blustered his way into the room, locking the door up behind him. "Beg pardon, Jack," he started confidentially. "We found a spot close to stowe the Pearl, all good, black cliff cover 'n' none the wiser." He stopped and noted Will and Elizabeth. "Oh. Evenin'." They nodded to Gibb; he pulled Jack to the furthest corner of the little room before whispering feverishly at him. Some kind of arguement. The young couple sat and watched them, befuddled. They could pick out profanities while Jack gestured and muttered something uppish back at Gibbs, whose eyes flitted back to them. Jack turned away from Gibbs and walked back to his chair, tossing his empty flask over his shoulder carelessly. 

"Look, mate," he said to Gibbs, "we walk through this every day- gets _you_ up early; gets _me_ up early. What say we call it a sore spot and put our backs to it, hm?" He slumped down on the chair again, watching the fire sulkily. 

Gibbs looked and Will and Elizabeth suspictiously. "Aye," he agreed, "'tis fer me as well." 

"I'm not dropping it," Elizabeth resumed with Jack. "I don't know why you won't accept our invitation, but it cannot be for lack of courage." 

Jack smiled up at her moodily, flashing the gold in his teeth. "You don't know me very well, then, do you?" 

"I thought you were better man than this." 

"You thought wrong, dear. I'm worse than this, much worse. I'm a _clever_ man." 

"An ounce of loyalty is worth a pound of cleverness," Will grumbled to himself. 

He drew Jack's attention. "That right? As of late, loyalty's caused us no end of trouble. You can sit about and stew in your drippings eternally, for all I care, but you happen to be in _my_ room, which I could -- for all you know -- be paying for, and if you can't live and let live, then I suggest you find the door." Will stood up and made to walk out of the room. Before he could even reach the exit, Jack had thrown himself in front of the door and practically sat on the latch. "Hasty, hasty!" he laughed nerviously, gingerly brushing nothing off Will's shoulers as some sort of hyponotic deterrent. "I'm hastey, you're hasty, it's a point of argument, but time, like Jack, takes all that can't be nailed down! I'll think about it." 

Will's expresion changing from cold-to-slack betrayed the slow attempt his brain made to catch up with Jack's gliding dialogue. He seemed stunned and a little confused. "You'll think about it?" he echoed with a spark of mistrust. 

"Long and arduously," Jack swore, hanging his head in mock regret, "hope to die." 

Will looked at him askance. "Apologize," he said sternly. It was all Elizabeth could to stop herself from snickering at Will's emotiveness; she and Jack exchanged knowing reguard over Will's shouler. 

"My sincerest," the pirate said coyly, sending a charming glance to Elizabeth, then looking contritely up at Will. "Sorry," he mumbled, fighting the corners of his mouth not to twitch up into a sarcastic smile. "Really. We square?" 

Will took a step back, eyed Jack's obsequious stance, then offered his hand. "Square." 

Jack grasped him by the forearm with his right hand and cuffed Will's shoulder encouragingly with the left. "As it should be." As Will finally allowed himself a grin, Jack skirted around him, a contented bounce in his usual laid-back, muzzy sashay. "Since you lovely people came all this way through the dead palls, I think it only right I give you your money's worth- who's for a story, eh? Stand up and say so." 

"A story?" Elizabeth asked. 

Gibbs smiled, leaning against the mantle. "There's no man alive er dead can spin a yarn like Jack," said he. "There was this one tale, he grapples with an alligator- well, I won't go on with it, Jack, ye tell it best!" 

"Alligator?" Jack asked, utterly lost as he once again took a seat by the fire effeminately. "Help me out, now, mate, which one was that?" 

"The one of Wickham's Caverns!" said Gibbs, agast that Jack could ever forget. "Sink me, ye ripped a man's still-beating heart from his chest!" 

"Ah, yes, the Unholy Silver! Boring story, really..." 

Jack smiled self-consciously at Elizabeth, who betrayed an air of suspition. "You ripped a man's heart from his chest?" she asked. 

"Still-beating heart," Jack corrected affectionately. 

"What happened?" asked Will, disgusted, but not the least bit doubtful, as though he'd assumed it was not uncommon for real men to tell bold tales of visceral extraction. 

"It's a very long story," Jack assured him, "you might want to grab that chair back." Will's disgust turned to fascination and he took his seat enthusiastically beside Elizabeth. Jack leaned forward toward them, driving home the surreptitious conditions over his audiance. "Picture it- Gold Coast, a good twenty-six years ago. It was when I was crewed with William on the vessel of our introduction-." 

"You mean, my father?" asked Will, now thoroughly caught up in it. 

"Aye, the senior William Turner. Once quartermaster of the Vulture." 

"The _Gilded_ Vulture?" asked Elizabeth. "I used to read about that ship. A stolen brigantine, under the command of the late Atticus Rafferty. It sailed these waters until nearly...god, twelve years ago." 

Jack was a bit bewildered by the memory. "Yeah," he murmered, out of the corner of his mouth. "Rafferty. I was his first mate 'til I _appropriated_ the Pearl. I split off to captain her, some time before our run-in with naval warships in Portugal..." He blinked, shaking his head slightly. He fell silent for a moment. 

"Why did they call it the Gilded Vulture?" Will asked. 

"Because we had it gilded," Jack answered matter-of-factly. He was still distant, absorbed in some inner tumult. 

"So the Black Pearl was a part of Rafferty's fleet?" Elizabeth prompted. 

"On the nose, child. His was the first crew I'd ever signed on with. We-." 

"Were there any women on the Vulture?" she asked hopefully. 

"_No_," Jack answered sullenly, "unfortunately, that would be impossible on most vessels, and ours was exceptionally so." And then his face brightened. "But if it's a tale of female pirates you're after, I'd ask if you've ever heard of a frigate called 'The Lady of Lesbos'? Oh, if you want a _real_ story-." 

"That's alright," Elizabeth said sourly. "Back to the Vulture." 

"Suit y'self, love. Twenty-six years ago, we'd just come off badly from outdoing ourselves on a Spanish galleon -- I was first mate on the Vulture, then, practically the captain's right arm. Well, a few days after we hit the galleon, we found a fair wind and came on Oguaa by night. It was a rather warm and windy one, like tonight-." 

"First mate?" Elizabeth repeated, frustrating Gibbs and Will with her interuppting. "Twenty-six years ago?" 

"Give or take, yeah." 

"But-." She was practically overwhelmed by the obsurdity. "You couldn't have been more than fourteen. _At very best_." 

"You can hardly judge his years by his appearance," Will joked. "He drinks so much rum, he's most likely embalmed himself by now." 

Jack waxed thoughtful for a moment, stoking his beard, twirling the braids around his fingers. "Twenty-six years ago... How old were you both then?" 

"We weren't born yet." 

Jack cracked up at that, suffering with insane amusment. "_Ouch_! Now that's young, iddn't it?" Will and Elizabeth, who were less amused, glowered at Jack in resentment. He ducked back behind a pensive expression. "Could've sworn I was better aged than fourteen when I ran across the silver." He smiled at them. "But who remembers?" 

"Well, _you_ don't, obviously," Elizabeth said. "The highest you could've ranked was cabin boy." 

Jack's smile turned subtly into a sneer. "If I was a powder monkey, I'd have said so, dear darling, so let's hold all questions 'til the end, and let old Jack get on with his little story, savvy?" 

GOLD COAST- TWENTY-SIX YEARS PRIOR 

It was a clear and windy night on the Gulf of Guinea where a grand, gilded brigantine and accompanying battered, red and black sloop sailed for a mecca called, among other names, Oguaa, the center of trade and piracey for the Gold Coast of Africa. While the crew of the "Gilded Vulture" were resigning themselves to the deck after lights out, a young, handsome swain stood at the foot of the main mast, leaning back against it with a sort of natural knightliness, his impassionate brown eyes darting up to the rigging above with concern. 

"I says, _'now'_," he demanded in a throaty, adolescent voice, quiet enough not to draw attention. "Get t'the deck, ye blasted fool, I won't be yer look-out again!" 

Something repelled spritely down behind him from quite a hight. It was a odd looking mess of a boy, barely fourteen years old, who had all the airs and manners of a drunken gentlewoman. Dark-complexioned he was, short, and lightly built, with matted chestnut hair. He peered around the mast at his friend and made eye-contact, startling the man with his suddenness. "Calm yourself, William," the urchin began in a deep, slurred drawl, "just trying to spot a good trend in the waning storm front, no harm done, who's to judge what's right or wrong, eh?" 

"Mob rule," Bill began -- a tiresome lecture. "If any man with a mouth catches site o' ye up in that riggin' again, it'll be _me_ that's bound t'marry ye off t'the gunner's daughter, an' don't think I won't o'er our brotherhood. Fer bound am I- true- t'the whim o' the men, but still, ye've no smart fear of god er man, ye flout the code whene'er the mood takes ye, an' the punishments ne'er hold. Ye got a great somethin' fierce comin' t'ye one o' these days an', gi'en the order, I wouldn't blink t'carry it out. Ye '_savvy_' that?" 

"I **do** hear what you're saying, mate, you have a code to serve, it's just adorable how you stick by it. But you think I'm near onto some great comeuppance that just isn't going t'strike, I'm sorry! I'll admit, we've seen our fill of violent punishment in the past two years, and, yes, I'll admit, the actual weals and welts have been _entirely_ on my end of the equation. I'm in no hurry for a reprise, but the stripes, they mean bugger-all. When you flung yourself into this righteous fog, you let one vital fact escape you." 

"Was it the reason _why_ ye keep on?" 

"Oh, _now_," the lad rebuked, his voice practically buzzing with charm. "It all comes down t'Rafferty's issue. Have ye not noticed, since setting foot on this bucket, I've had the captain wrapped around my li'l finger? Nothing can really touch me while I'm aboard, not while I'm within Rafferty's reach it can't. That man would stand on his head if I asked him to." At that moment, he found himself grasped at shoulder and turned about. He looked up timidly. "_Captain,_" he said, trying for the effervescent conviction of a man with nothing to hide. "Speak of the devil and, lo, he appears." 

The lad's captain, Atticus Rafferty, was a tall, thickset, barrel-chested quinquagenarian in black. He had the seemings of a gentleman gone mad, one eye green and calm, the other light blue and glaring wildly from under his left brow. Long, graying hair, a short-shorn beard, and an ornate, feathered black tricorne compassed his battle-worn, ellipsoidal face. 

"A word with ye, Jack," Rafferty asked. As though ubducting him, he put a heavy hand on Jack's shoulder and walked him to the starboard bulkward. Anyone on deck could see the faint but breath-taking view of an approaching costal city; all that pierced the dark were warm blurs of glowing lights, homefires and the like. The men found themselves stoked by it, except for Jack, who seemed to look upon the spectacular site with foreboding. A troublesome old aquantince, not gone long enough. He caught a sneer from the captain out of the corner of his eye. 

"Before you say anything," Jack began defensively. He pulled a large roll of parchment from inside his waistcoat and handed it to the captain. 

Rafferty unrolled the paper and his eyes slid over it in silent puzzlement. "What's this?" he asked. 

Jack smirked to himself proudly. "You remember those tatty old charts of Madagascar you have rolling about the inventory?" 

"Aye." 

"Take another look at that parchment, sir." 

Rafferty looked the paper over again to see the offspring of his old charts, a map that's detail went up to the surrounding islands and down to ports and streets. Rafferty stopped and pointed out an image to Jack, about the map's legend. "What're those?" 

"Llamas," Jack said matter-of-factly. "Allied to camels, but much smaller and without a hump. Said to be a domesticated variety of the guanaco-." 

"I know what llamas are! What are they doin' on a map of Madagascar?" 

"_Eating grass,_" Jack sighed, exasperated. "Or cud, if you'd prefer." 

Rafferty looked at Jack with a bit of fear in his eyes, as one remembering he's in the presence of a madman. "_Anyhow_...I been speakin' t'Docter Gabriel about goin' ashore, an' he says ye been barterin' away yer duties on him. Says ye promised him that Admiral's pistol ye won off spottin' the first sail o' that Spanish galleon last week. Didje do that?" 

"I think I _did_ do that," Jack trepidly admitted, wrists together and hands under his chin docilely, as though they'd been fettered in front of him. 

"T'was a fine piece o'barginin', t'be sure. An' so I think I'll be sendin' ye with the rest on Little Tom to go an' aquire a smart price fer supplies." 

"Buying provisions?" Jack asked, perplexed. "Are we not gentlemen of fortune, sir?" 

"Well, nothin' get's past ye," Rafferty snickered. "After cripplin' that last ship- me thinks now we went a bit far- we're in great need of ration's fer the men, and now we're stranded off damned Oguaa." He looked at Jack expectantly. "**Oguaa**." Jack drew a breath to speak, but found he had no reply. Rafferty grumbled in frustration. "The territiory of one Commodore Jim Bash? We can only hope t'offer a toll of respect t'Bash's dread fleet of blackbirders, or we're good as Davey Jones' army." 

"This Bash, he wouldn't take the toll and kill us anyway? Just as a lark?" 

"Ye've much t'learn on leadership, Sparrow. Ye can die a straight-toungued scoundral 'n' t'no discredit. But the first time a good man is caught in a lie, he's branded a lier fer the rest o' his days." 

"Yes, but logically, _honest_ men," the word stuck in Jack's throat, "are slaves to their conscience, hence there is no trusting them. But a dishonest man, you can always trust to stay that way." 

"I was gettin' t'that... Say a mad axman puts hisself at the head o' an army. The men see him take a life, an' they'll still follow. But if they hear him tell a lie, they'll just assume they can't trust 'im. Human nature outstrips logic, understand?" 

Jack squinted and screwed up his face, as though trying hard to digest the story. "...Sorry, you lost me long about the 'mad axman'." 

"All ye've got t'do," Rafferty said measuredly, as though very frustrated, "is remember that Oguaa is Bash's territiory. That means they'll be no raidin', plunderin', or raisin' Cain with any other distractions ashore, least we draw his wrath." 

Jack's gaze fell, afflictedly. "T'is bleak night, sir," he lamented. 

"Aye. Been quite depressed fer the lads, an' fer meself as well." 

"So that's the word t'be had," Jack began carefully, "and you aren't cross about me duties, then?" 

"No, I am," the captain said carelessly. "This be yer opportunity fer redemption." 

"F'give me, captain," Jack said calmly, giving a forced smile up at Rafferty. "Really, I would never have gone around your authority- I have the **utmost** respect for you, and for authority in general- I'd only thought it was nothing t'be out of sorts about. Is all." 

"Well, I'll defer t'ye on that one, seein' as how 'out of sorts' seems t'be yer specialty. So go an' fetch up Gabriel an' Bootstrap. Gabriel's ancestry hails from Elmina, he should make a fine guide fer the party." 

"And Bootstrap?" 

"T'keep ye on track an' curb those weasely little impulses," Rafferty explained. "While yer cunnin' an' disregard got their merit, occasion t'occasion, there's a sort o' protocol t'be obser'ed on this stint. An' there's not a hand on this ship knows yer whims better than Bootstrap. And he'd be willin' t'bring ye t'task, if need be." 

"How very clever of you, sir," Jack muttered to himself half-heartedly. 

Rafferty looked back at the shore, a cold, unreadable expression on his shrewd face. "Ye got a head on yer shoulders, Sparrow, I always called ye a bright lad." 

With great sutblety, a wily simper returned to Jack's face. "Modest, you've called me quite a number of things, but so have the men, and I'd wager they meant no harm by it either, sir." 

Rafferty laughed to himself. "They're not gi'in' ye trouble, though?" 

"Oh, no, sir. They only speak behind my back from some frustrations. But all the contenion of onset melted clean away when we put Dashiell overboard." 

"I pegged him all wrong," said Rafferty, shaking his head. "He'd been me cabin boy fer so long, an' I'd ne'er thought him a theif an' a skulker among his own mates." 

"Still, I feel just as wretched," said Jack, something in his doleful voice betraying sarcasm. 

"Ye were right t'peach him, an' ye make a fine replacement besides, what with yer Gypsy gifts. And how's the weather t'be, while I think on it?" 

"Clear in these water's for the next two nights, sir. And high winds and rain past that." 

"Past that? Ye warn't in the riggin' again?" 

"Not to my knowledge, sir," Jack lied. "But what goes on while I sleep is still beyond me,...just now." 

"So, be off, then." 

Jack's tone was strange, like a laugh was bubbling up in him. "Ye wouldn't chuck me t'surf on a heavy note such as this, captain?" It was impossible to tell if he was just being cheerful or horribly insincere. 

"Try t'deal with it, Sparrow. The particular arrangment o' brotherhood aboard this ship holds no opportunity fer favoritism." 

"No, not 'favoritism'," Jack corrected. "_Friendship_. Quite a rare and valuable luxury amongst theives, sir." 

"Prob'ly 'cause such a thing is, by nature, impossible." 

"Improbable, captain, _nothing's_ impossible." 

"And so I'll, yet again, defer t'ye. May I offer some advice?" 

Jack beamed at him endearingly. "Hanging on your every word, sir." 

After allowing himself a moment of vexation, Rafferty smiled back at Jack, begrudged. "Ne'er mind." 

And so it was, that a party went ashore to Oguaa. They circumvented the docks, bringing the sloop Little Tom right up to the shores. Several of the party were leaping out into the shallow water, some with torches in hand, other's carrying chests and baskets out to beach. They naturally left Tom's crew to tend to the sloop. Of the actual party, Jack was still on board, along with a tall, solid Jamaican fellow, who was one of the ship's surgeons. He was a bit on the older side and had a tranquil air about him- something that was subject to change- and dressed in eccentrically expensive clothing for a pirate, his aged face like the charming ghost of dangerous- once even deadly- good looks. He stood at the side of the ship, calling to Bill, who stood waist-deep in the shoals beside the sloop. 

"I'm sendin' him ova," the man called out, "and I expect ya t'coutch him diss time!" 

Bill sqinted up through the darkness. "T'weren't any o' _my_ fault last time!" he shouted, no ire in his voice. "Just pitch him down, Gabriel, I'll make certain he doesn't hit the water!" He then heard a loud splash in the shallows behind him. Panicked, Bill turned and trucked through water to the sorce of it, eventually kicking against something. He reached blindly into the waters, pulling Jack out by the lapels of his tattered old justaucorps. Jack was unconscious, his water-logged tricorne (which stayed remarkabley on his head) was askew, and there was a wide red mark across his cheek. "Come on, Jack," Bill said, shaking the lad gently. 

"I _knowed_ ya wuddn't coutch him," he heard Gabriel say. 

"Pipe down," Bill groused, "yer of no use t'me, complainin'! Help me roust him, before he drowns in his lungs." 

Gabriel climbed slowly down the rope ladder and carefully lept down into the water. "Muddah of Jah, dott's cold!" he griped. 

Bill gave Gabriel a cross look. "Some time t'day?" he asked curtly. "B'fore what's left of his brains does a drip from his ear?" 

"Ya wuddn't hafta be worrin' on Jack's brains al de time if ya wasn't al-ways knockin' him in de cocoanut. Gyve him t'I." He took Jack by the shoulders from Bill and shook him violently. "Y'dreamin' about drownin'?" he shouted in annoyance. "Wake on up, damned foolish child!" 

Jack began choke up water; his eyes fluttered open sleepily. "I didn't do it!" he coughed in protest. "I swear on my mother's grave- should anything ever happen to the dear lady, god f'bid." When his eyes regained focus, he sneered at Bill in recognition and gave him a powerful shove, causing Bill to stumble back. "Why the bloodly hell did you hit me?" Jack shouted. 

"Last six times ye wouldn't step off the ship," Bill said. "We ain't got the time t'be messin' around, tryin' t'find ye again. Ye've been givin' a call, now except it 'n' get t'land!" 

Upon Gabriel's releasing him, Jack started storming off toward the shore, occasionally sending dagger-eyed glances back at them or swinging an arm in their direction. "You've both made my list!" they heard him grumble bitterly as they trudged along in his wake. 

"Dott child's nutt righted," said Gabriel, smirking to himself. 

Bill made to punch him in the arm, then pulled the punch wisely. "Shut it, dog." 

"Ya see de way Jack walks?" 

"Nothin' crazy about that, he jus' hasn't got his land-legs back, is all." 

"He do it on deck, bwoy. And hops up inta de topmost riggin' at night lika damned frog. Ya hea' de men tell about his 'Jolly Rogah Schnapps'? Dey say he drank a fitta poisin and vomited al ova de gunnery." 

"I don't believe ya fer a minnut," said Bill as they came ashore. "Ye're stylin' him up t'be a mad demon." 

"If de shoo fits, bwoy." 

"B'sides, Jack wouldn't be caught dead in the gunnery, he hates cannons." 

"Den why is he a powdah monkey on a piratt ship?" 

Bill couldn't think of anything. He could only watch Jack stagger off onto the beach ahead of them, collecting a handful of sand as he went and pocketing it. 

When the party went into town, the open-air market had long since closed for the night. Gabriel led them through the dimely lit dirt roads toward a trading lodge. 

"Pity we couldn't visit that lovely ole castle I spied through the palms," Jack mused. "Maybe liberate it of a family heirloom or two?" 

Gabriel cuffed him upside the head. "Ya would t'ink to lead us to de Door of No Retu'n," he said bitterly. "Dott's a black ivory f'tress." 

Jack glared back at him churlishly. "Then perhaps we aught not be combing the shores of the slave trade mecca with a quarrelsome Jamacian guide." 

"He's right," Bill agreed. "Fer a change. Might not be smart fer ye t'wander the streets here." 

Gabriel smirked to himself. "I'm a wyse mon," he said smugly, "and ca'eful, I'm nutt afraid of dose littel piss aunts. B'sides dott, we won't be out fuh al dott long-. Look." They followed his eyes to a hanging sign above a door that read _"Twin Pistols: Traders Welcome"_ with a painting of two pistols crossed beneath it. "T'is Breetish owned, but mi fam'ly hod an old connection de'e. De son of mi faddah's friend." He stepped up to the lodge's door and knokced twice. They eventually heard two wraps on the other side of the door in turn. Gabriel knocked four more times to a specific rhythm and the door swung open. 

There stood a thin, very dark Ghanian man. He was clad in bright linen clothing and held a lit candelabrum. "Y'know ze knuck?" the man asked, in a bored, French accented voice. 

Gabriel reguarded the man with equal disintrest. "Kwabla, I presume? Am Gabriel, son of Joseph. Mi crew hus come f'provisions. We'tradin' in gold t'night, and we'll pay full fuh any day old food. May w'gain antraunce?" 

Kwabla looked the damp pirates over with a sneer. "Yu may, un ze cundeshun you put out zose torchez, rrespect ze ludge, aun keep yu nuze to a meenimum. My maztere 'as gone 'ome." He stepped aside and lead them into the beautiful white-washed lodge. There were shelves, baskets and tables piled high with goods to outfit ocean voyages. As the others outed their torches in the horse troth, Jack maundered in first with Bill, sitting himself up on the cashier's counter. He pulled his boot off and started pouring out the sand and sea water. Kwabla set his candelabrum on an end table and turned around the see Jack. His movements had not only knocked several things off the counter, but now there was a puddle of water on the ground beneath him. 

Having finished shaking it out, Jack put his boot back on and started pulling the other one off. "I seem to have taken on water," he said to Kwabla when their eyes met. "Don't you just hate when that happens?" 

Kwabla ran to the counter to pick something up off the floor. "Vous enfant du diable!" he whispered furiously. "Regardez les dégâts que vous avez causés!" 

As the others brought there chests and such in, Jack stared cluelessly at the item Kwabla held. It was a little red and black doll of a man, it's teeth and eyes painted on in white. Very odd looking to Jack. "Sorry," he slurred to Kwabla, "I spoiled your little French dolly-man. Thing." 

"Eet ez a fetish of Eshu!" Kwabla corrected. "Ze Trixsterr! Yu 'ave drropped hem on ze floorr, zoaked hem en watere!" He turned to Gabriel. "Ziss iz how yu sank me forr my 'ospitality? Brungung ziss scurvy baztarrd tu put a currze dunn un my ludge?" 

Having roughly made out the words "scurvy bastard," Jack, insulted, went for his pistol, but before he could grasp the handle, Bill's hand shot out grabbed Jack's wrist firmly. Bill gave him a wrathful warning look, which Jack took for it's meaning, seething reverently. 

"He meant not'ing," Gabriel told Kwabla, "and will b'no cuss. Manouche, Jack is a cha'med bwoy." 

Jack leaned back, looking at the three of them critically. "Charmed **man**," he said. "But it does not do to believe in rumors or curses. Not even in our own eyes, keen as they are. Take this for example-." With his left hand planted squarely on the counter, Jack used right, took a guinea from his waistcoat pocket, and gave Kwabla, Gabriel, and Will a good long look at it before closing his fingers around it. He held his small fist out to them. "Tap it," he dared them relishingly, seeming awake for once and kindled by delight. Kwabla and Gabriel both hesitantly took a turn tapping the back of his hand, although Bill was boyishly curious and quick to play along. Jack turned his hand it palm up, opened it quickly- there was nothing there, much to some of the other men's bemusement. And this pleased Jack beyond all reason. He lifted his left hand off the counter quickly and brought it to their eye-line, then began rolling the guinea back and forth across the knuckles of his fingers with fluent grace, the coin coming seemingly from thin air. 

"How d'ye do that, anyways?" Bill asked credulously. 

"Misdirection, my good William," he slurred complacently, and flipped the coin to Bill. "See, our eyes and hearts are very fickle, faithless things, easily fooled and not to be trusted. If I can make you want to see one thing, I can surely make you overlook another," (Bill gazed down at the coin and pondered something slyly,) "so I don't really hold to that Frenchy, ju-ju nonsense, no matter how earnestly the stories are told." 

"Et ez nut nunzenze," said Kwabla, "aun yu best mind yu wuldz, lezt yu ful victum to ze god's wroth yuzelf. Zere wurr greedy fledglung men zat came tu ze coast fiftee yeelz igo, Navy men, 'oo did nut belive un zuperrezteshun. Ze werre currzed for eterrenaty." Jack seemed unimpressed. 

"T'is true," Gabriel chimed in. "I hea'd al de legunds, men dott saw witt dey own eyes. De bruddahs Wickham stole from de offerin's. Amongst dem wus a piece of silva, cussed and blessed by de Sangoma witt de cunnin' might of Eshu." 

"Sangoma?" Bill echoed. 

"Aye, de spearatchual divina of a villudge. Mo'e powe'ful and wilely dan any udda Sangoma wott lived, she blessed de silva piece t'attract wealtt to it, so t'would build de afferen', and cussed it t'consume de possessa witt greed, t'punish any dott da'e to steal from de godds. De eldust Wickham bruddah murdud his younga siblin's in de caves t'keep dott piece f'himself, and in de caves he stays, growin' olda and weaka, obsessed witt de tresha." 

There was a small spark of realization in Jack's eyes. "That's all very interesting," he said roguishly. "No one ever thought to take this pretty silver for themselves?" 

"Eet ez currzed," Kwabla whispered frantically, "yu contumacious gamin!" 

Jack leaned over close and looked down his nose at Kwabla antagonistically. "You're very lucky I only understood half of that," he retorted. "But as I was saying, this is a land of white greed now. Surely the colonists put less stock in superstition than even myself." 

"We don't tell ze colonists," said Kwabla. "Zey're lukly tu brung a plague un our peepel tu ruval ziss occupation, takung ze silverr from ze safety of zee caves. Zey alwayz make everzung worrse, everzung zey touch diez!" 

"Well, you've nothing to fear from us," Jack assured him. "We've only come for provisions and to pay a toll to Bash." 

"Yu play a dunjurus game," Kwabla laughed. "He makez heez lair en ze "Queen Mawu," a peer-front inn up ze coast frum Elmina Harbour. A fleet of blackberederez wade un formation around ze docks, cannuns at ready." 

"Like you," Jack told him, "our captain is very a clever man. He's not one to take such serious matters lightly." Kwabla folded his arms over his chest and pursed his lips to keep his proud smile at bay. "About our provisions," Jack went on, with his familiar dulcet tones and elegant gestures, "I was thinking of something to last us for a good length out of the Gold Coast, winds permitting, and guarantee of aught spoilage. What do you have in the way of **live Ungulata**?" 

"I t'ink we'll gaddeh evert'ing we need," suggested Gabriel quickly, "and den ya can bahtah f'de whole price." 

Jack shrugged at Kwabla. "So that settled," he said harmoniously, "tell me more about this 'Eshu' fellow- is he a god, or just extremely wealthy?" 

It wasn't all that long before the party were bringing their great heaps of victuals, gun powder, and other like things back toward the shore where Little Tom weighed anchor. Bill had himself a small but heavy crate, Gabriel- being a doctor- chose not to put his hands at risk by ferrying anything, and Jack was carrying nothing more than an Eshu doll and a large ball of fried cocoanut shavings he'd been biting into. The men were passed by a roving crowde of women, all sizes and colors, the only kind of women that roam the streets so late and done up so fancy. Every man made a comment or gesture of some suggestive sort, dallied for a moment to ogle the females, then returned their sites dolefully to the road. But Jack looked for a trifle too long at the crowde, his feet found themselves turning in direction. He started down the street, but felt a tug back. Bill had taken one arm away from his crate and grabbed Jack's hair, winding it around his hand until his fist hit the back of Jack's neck. 

"Is there a problem?" Jack asked unassumingly. 

"I'm gonna turn ye loose," said Bill. 

"Ah, very generous of you." 

"Now, I'm either lettin' go o' yer hair, er the hair's letting go o' yer skull. Choose." 

Jack grinned broadly. "I suppose the ladies can wait, then?" 

"Smart choice." He shoved Jack down the walk in front of him. 

Jack straightned up and glared back at Bill, jokingly. "I don't know why I let you treat me _so shamefully,_" he wept in pseudo-anguish. "It's this bloody good nature of mine, it's always making me persevere to go on with the Lord's work." 

"I don't think the Lord'll mind if ye aviod the nunnery fer a night er two," Bill laughed, the two of them resuming their trek, quickly catching up to and passing their associates. 

"T'is a sin, though, letting the cloisters get cold. Who'll keep the sisters warm?" Jack started on the coconut again. "Very good of that...Kwebalala fellow t'bring the price down like he did," he said through a mouthful, while checking the gender of his Eshu doll. "Good man, good man. Shame I never got to ask if it hurt much." 

"If what hurt?" Bill asked. 

"Y'know, when they..." He held the Eshu under his arm and made a little scissors with his fingers. 

"Nutt _al_ de French a'e eunuchs," Gabriel berated, "and I seeck t'deatt of havin' t'tell ya." 

"Aye, they are so," Bill ribbed dismissively. 

"It's true," said Jack, taking another bite, "I read it in the bible- a French bible. I can read all manner of things in French. Can only say _one_, though. Quelqu'un prend un boire avec moi?" 

"Ought t'smock y'bott," sighed Gabriel. "And Bill... Ya should know bettah den t'listen t'Jack about _anyt'ing_. Maybe ya'll t'ank de French when de Right of Parley saves ya mangy hide one day." 

"Parley?" 

"Aye," said Bill, "The Right of Parley. According to the Code of the brethren-." 

"Oh, not the sodding code again," Jack groaned sullenly. 

"-set down by the pirates Henry Morgan 'n' Bartholomew Roberts,-" 

"Royal poofters they were,-" 

"-if an adversary begs parley,-" 

"-and if I ever got my hands on them-." 

"-ye're obliged t'take 'em to yer commander, and no ill can come to 'em 'til a conference has been completed." 

"Do so ott de right moment," said Gabriel to Jack, "and it might well be de only t'ing dott stonds between ya and de end of a cutlass. Witt al y'proud lip an' backtalk, I wuddn't be shocked if y'needed dott right soon. T'is ya moutt dott's gon't'git us al keeled one day." 

As they hit the beach, Jack was sporting a rollicking grin of acomplishment. "D'you know what your problem is?" he asked politely, 

"I gyve y'odds, it's Jack Sparrow," said Gabriel. 

"No, no, no- silly old man that you are- _no_. Your problem is that you think you've got everything figured out, all from a highly focused perspective. Life just isn't that simple, mate." 

"Nutt al de French a'e eunuchs! It duddn't _git_ no simpla den dott! I swear t'Jah, we'de sorriest band of basta'ds on de ocean." 

Jack stuffed the little Eshu in his waistcoat pocket and finished the cocoanut. "At least we haven't been castrated," he pointed out. 

Gabriel thought for a moment. "Dott's a good point, awkshually. We' a pant-load bettah off den Suh Francis Drake's fott hull of cheese-eaten' eunuchs." 

Jack, Bill, and Gabriel had surpassed the other men by several good lengths when they reached the beach, laughing amongst themselves, making nasty remarks about all manner of things that weren't their business. Jack had been beside himself with amusment as they came closer to the sea, but he stopped dead at spotting a sliding track in the sand toward the shore. It led his eye to something that had just submerged under the waters and, alert now, he threw his arms out in front of Bill and Gabriel. "Stop," Jack whispered. "I saw something." 

Bill pushed Jack's arm away and kept walking. "Ye saw somethin'," he asked without concern, "er ye _think_ ye did-." Suddenly, a large, dark alligator skuttled with horrid swiftness out of the surf, it's jaws giving a good snap at Bill before it retreated back a yard, the tide lapping up behind it. Being ahead of the men with torches, it was difficult for them to see anything but a glimmer; the alligator was wearing a diamond-studded, belt-like collar around it's thick neck. Bill tried not to loose his grip on the crate in front of him. "I hear they can jump," he said darkly. 

"How far?" Jack asked. 

"Up t'fifteen feet." 

"I hope nutt," Gabriel whispered meanly. "Ya only ten feet away." 

"Oh, good then," Jack jested, "it'll jump right over ye!" This made Jack and Gabriel break out into villainous laughter. 

"Quiet!" Bill hushed. He took a step back and heard an ear-splitting sound -- Jack had drawn his pistol and taken a shot at the gator. It opened it's mouth lazily and slowly advanced on them, until it started to sink down onto it's belly. There was a smoking, fleshy wound on the top of it's back. Jack stood at the front of the three, pistol still raised. The sober expression on his face couldn't lend confidence to the overawed look in his eyes. 

"Nice shot," said Bill. 

"I was aiming for the head," Jack said breathlessly, stuffing the gun back in his belt. "Go, see if it's dead." 

Bill gave an agrivated groan and stalked over to the alligator. "Aye, I think so," he said, peering over his crate. 

"Touch it," Jack asked trepidly. 

"**Sparrow**!" 

"Well, fine, _I_ will, if you're going t'be a right baby about it." Jack crept forward, cocking his head to one side and gazing leerily at the beast. He put his foot on it and gave it a nudge or two, which is when noticed it's collar. "Ah, quite a stuffy accoutrement for such a wild creature. What say I set the poor wight's soul free?" He reached carefully down and sparingly unfastened the collar. "What d'you think?" he asked Bill and Gabriel, coltishly draping the collar across his chest like a sash. "Honestly, does it make me look cheap?" 

So it insued there that the party hauled their provisions back to Little Tom. There was a period of rest for that shift of the crew, and by that afternoon, the captain and a handful of his men returned on the unthreatening sloop to sail for the Queen Mawu, leaving Mister Braeden, the first mate, at the helm. Just as Kwabla had said, their were eight large ex-slave ships berthed in two rows, creating a strait leading up to the waterfront access of the derelict inn. The sloop was effortlessly channeling through the ships as the sun shone high over the coast. Bill stood at the port bow of Little Tom, resting his hands on the bulkward as he surveyed the crews of the ships they were slowly passing. 

Jack- who was now wearing the gator's collar as a belt- had been watching Bill and haunting the mast as he nursed a new bottle of rum. He noticed the dour expression on his friend's face and crept up behind him tipsily, frowning at the blackbirders in a sort of parody of Bill. He leaned forward against the bulkward with one hand. "Land ho!" he barked suddenly, breaking the silence and making Bill jump nearly out of his skin. He gave Jack a severe glare. "Anxious?" Jack slurred with a winsome smile. Bill growled and shoved him into the wooden railing. "Now where did that come from?" Jack asked. "It's not allowed, raising a hand to your crewmates on deck, that's eighty lashes across the shoulders or something. Ninty-five. And you call yourself a man of the code..." He took another swig from the bottle and wiped his mouth on his wrist as he watched the ships go by with Bill. "This is all so familiar, where have I seen this before?" Then he gapsed in mock-relazation. "Oh, _right_, the Gates of Hell!" 

Bill finally cracked up and smiled, inspite of himself, realizing what Jack was doing. "I don't know why the captain brought ye along," he said, laughing under his breath. 

"Someone has to keep you out of trouble. You wanna know something?" 

"What?" 

Jack leaned on the rail lethargically. "I'm deadly knackered!" he chuckled privily. "Think anyone would miss me if I just...stayed on board? Hmm, had a little caulk? I mean, after all, mate, what am _I_ going for? Don't know if I'm even going t'be awake for the best of this, anyway." 

"Pure rubbish," Bill snorted dissmissively, "ye're just drunk again." 

"Are you brainsick?" Jack asked, affronted. "Check the intake." He held the bottle of rum up. It was down one third. 

"Am I s'posed t'be impressed?" 

"Trying to trick _me_," Jack snarled. "See, I'm too smart f'that. You want **me** to think that **you** think that I can't hold my swill, thus provoking me t'give up my hand, whatever you think that may be. But **I** know that **you** want me to think that..." Jack paused for moment. "Unless you **knew** that I'd think that you'd **want** me t'think that you think that. _Ahah!_ Not so smart, are you? Damn the lassitudes, I'm going ashore. Because I'm tired of arguing, and because I want to, not because you tell me." 

"Really?" Bill said dryly. 

"Really," Jack replied, making little bizzare hand-gestures. "A **hundred** lashes, is what that was. _Never_ take a hand to me again." Bill made to backhand him, and Jack lept back out of his reach. "_That was a hand_!" he yelled. "A thousand lashes! Since you are the quartermaster, you may inflict them on yourself." His attentions conveniently flitting, Jack noticed the sloop was now docking at the peer. "Oh, good," he said upon seeing it, and before they could put the gang plank down, he'd already lept off the ship, clear onto the dock. 

Gabriel came up beside Bill, who was laughing to himself again. "Wott was dott about?" Gabriel asked. 

Bill smiled as Jack started impatiently waving him over from the dock. "I needed t'get him off the sloop," said Bill. "And I knew he'd make some try t'stay aboard. I can't outsmart him, no one on the ship's that clever. So I made him _think_ I was trying t'outsmart him, an' let him outsmart hisself 'til he run out o' steam. 'Misdirection'." 

"Or de basta'd counsin of it," Gabriel commented with a sneer. "Ya al daft..." 

The small band of the men- the scrubs carring large chests of gold and other boons- made way into the dilapidated stone building through the great, wide double-doors, all lead up by Rafferty. Jack and Bill flanked the captain like underwhelming bodyguards, Bill at his right. In the front room of the Queen Mawu, there was a muggy, spicey smoke that lingered in the building, this building that was filled to compacity with men, women, and little ones, going about their lives. All blacks, the men were in various states of injury and dishevelment. That and the blackbirderes gave Jack the notion of a pirating community, born from the mutinied slave ships. Their leader had anchored his people at the center of the slave trade with no signes of concern for them, and so Jack was a bit reluctant to know the Commodore. 

Bill hung back and shot a confidential frown at Jack. "D'ye have a wrong feelin'?" Bill whispered, as the better part of the crowd turned and watched their arrival. 

"You mean like a knot in the pit of the stomach?" Jack asked, resting his hand on the grip of his pistol. "Lump in the throat? Not really." 

An average-sized, handsome, richly-clad fellow in a grommet studded baldrick had risen from a table at the other end of the room and was crossing over to meet them. He seemed a bit bereft. "What's yer business here?" the man asked Rafferty, easily singling him out as the leader. 

"Atticus Rafferty," the captain answered coolly, "master o' the Gilded Vulture. An' ye're?" 

"Commander Anwar," he said in a contemptuous tone. "State yer business." 

Rafferty ground his teeth in annoyance. "We set upon yer territory fer supplies, 'n' now come t'negotiate a toll o' respect t'the good commodore; if ye'd be so kind, relay the message at his leisure." 

"That I may," said Anwar, "at _my_ leisure." 

Jack started to scowl when he noticed Rafferty sporting a wry smile, their captain obviously vexed at this Anwar upstart. "Quite an attitude for an underling," he muttered to Bill, who- along with Rafferty and Anwar- gave Jack a seering look. 

"Have ye somethin' t'say?" asked Anwar. 

"Not a thing," said Jack innocently. 

Anwar appraised Jack with a single, lengthy glare, but his eyes quickly darted down to Jack's belt. "Where didje get that?" he asked intensively. 

"Oh, you like it? It's only me old belt, twice turned over. But it did turn out fine, didn't it? I'm thinking of adding a notch." 

"Where is he?" Anwar shouted furiously, unsheathing his cutlass and holding the point at Jack's throat. 

Jack craned his neck back. "Peg pardon?" 

Anwar closed in, sliding the broad side of his blade arcoss Jack's throat 'til the hilt met with his jaw. "Polo," Anwar said dangerously. 

"Polo?" asked Rafferty. He looked to Jack, who shrugged with an eccentric take on blamelessness. 

"**_My alligator!_**" Anwar blustered. 

"Oh," Jack choked nervously, "_that_ Polo! Yes, he went on a little sabbatical." 

"Ye killed 'im, didn't ye? Ye could not come so close as t'take that collar if ye hadn't." 

"Sparrow killed an alligator?" the captain ragged sardonically. "_Sparrow_ did? _Jack_ Sparrow? And it was yer 'pet' gator besides. How do ye know he didn't find it dead?" 

"Because I know he's lying," Anwar hissed, twisting the blade. "And ye know it as well, I can hear it in yer voice." 

Rafferty groaned quietly and let his head fall back. "Was it in defense, then?" he asked Jack. 

"No," Jack prattled sarcastically, sweating the closeness of the blade, "I hunted him down for sport, gave him a pistol and a good head start- of course it was in defense, he was a bloody alligator!" 

"Then I'll go with it to Bash," Rafferty began, "smooth it out. Ye're drunk, anyway-." 

But Anwar's hand jumped a fraction too close to Jack, enough for the blade to snag his skin and draw blood, and Jack panicked. "Parley!" he yelped. The room went dead silent. 

"What didje say?" asked Anwar. 

"Parley," Jack repeated, giving an unsound, sporadic glare back to Anwar. "That's the word, iddn't it?" Somewhere near the back of the group, Gabriel winced. "You need to take me to the commodore," Jack went on. 

"_Jack_," Rafferty threatened, "back off it, _now_. I'll talk t'Bash. Jack, look at me?" Jack continued glaring at Anwar, and raised his brows tauntingly to the commander. 

Anwar put his cutlass away and grabbed Jack by the hair. "Ye men," he called to his mates, "make these sirs comfortable 'n' wait on me." He turned back to Jack. "This one's goin' t'the commodore-." 

Suddenly, there were loud, booming sounds that broke the tension and shook the dark room, making the molded rafters creak. Bits of dirt fell from the low ceiling, Gibbs relaxed and braced himself on the mantle. Will and Elizabeth held tightly to the arms of their chairs, staring about themselves with foreboding. **"What is that?"** Will shouted over the noise, putting a protective arm around Elizabeth. 

**"Cannon fire!"** Jack shouted, crossing his legs clamly. **"No call for alarm, people! When the locals in the mountans fued, this culdesac is like an echo stop!"** Before Jack could finish his sentince, the booming and shaking stopped. Slowly, the background noise from the widow's walk and other rooms returned. Jack smiled reassuringly. "See? Now where was I?" 

"Going to the c-commodore," Elizabeth stuttered, quite wide-eyed and rattled as she peered around the room. 

"Ah, yes," Jack said darkly, "the commodore..." 

"This one's goin' t'the commodore." Their was a great cheer of blood-thirsty approval from the men, though the women mostly shook their heads, embarrassed at their sons and husbands. Some of the children cheered along, if only for a reason to clap and make noise, and their mothers quickly hushed them from it. Bash's crew started relieving Rafferty's men of their weapons and leading them off to a stone cellar stairway, with the captain rolling his eyes and muttering all the way. Anwar deprived Jack of his baldrick, pistol, and Polo's belt, threw them on a table, and took Jack up by the arm, hauling him away. 

Jack tapped a man on shoulder and pointed to his effects. "Watch those for me!" he told the man, as Anwar gave his arm an extra hitch and continued dragging him off, towards the near end of the room and around a corner. Amidst draperies and tapestries in the shrouded niche, there was a large, beautifully crafted chair, quite lordly, surrounded with fettered, dormant hyenas that panted and wobbled around at the ends of their chains, disoriented by the heat. 

At the chair sat an imposing, somewhat sinister-looking man. Drinking wine and scratching a hyena behind it's ears, he was dressed like a gentleman, but their wasn't much more that was gentle about him- even the silver crucifix her wore around his neck took on a menacing aspect. He caught site of Anwar, and then Jack. "Is this the entertainment?" the man joked; his deep, hollow voice had a kind of violence behind it that sent a sudden rush of awareness through Jack. 

"Commodore, sir," said Anwar, nodding his head in respect, "this one's _wantin'_ t'see you." 

"Then what is his madness?" 

"He invoked the Right of Parley," Anwar explained, "trying t'save his miserable life." 

"How exactly did he merit your wrath, young Anwar?" the commodore scoffed. "Not that you're one to ever show your temper." 

Anwar's nostrils flared with quiet fury. "He murdered Polo." 

"...Polo?" 

"My alligator!" he shouted, but then caught himself. "Sir." 

"He slew the alligator? _He_ did? _That_ one?" 

Jack was spluttering spitefully to himself, something in the vein of, _"Why's that so bloody hard t'believe?"_ But he found himself distracted, taking in the tension between Anwar and Bash with remarkable focus. 

"He's a ruddy demon," snarled Anwar. 

"So," Bash went on, "he offered no compensation?" 

"There _be_ no compensation fer this, sir, Polo was like a brother. He didn't deserve his fate." 

"Leave the boy to me," Bash said regally, sitting back in his chair; he took another sip from his goblet. "We are to conference, are we not? Go, Anwar, see to his crewmates." Anwar unwillingly nodded and gave Jack a shove toward the commodore. 

"Was that _really_ nessisary?" Jack snipped. Anwar grunted at him, making him draw back demurely. "By all means, take your leave of us, good sir." 

"I'll be back soon enough," said Anwar. He turned away and headed to the front room. 

"Yes, off with ye," Jack shooed to the back of Anwar's head before turning his attention to Bash, fussing diaphanously with the stinging cut on his throat. "So, commodore-." he began. 

"What is your name?" asked Bash. 

Jack mustered worthy enthusiasm for his introduction and made a quick obeisance to Bash. "Jack Sparrow, sir. A high-ranking officer of the Guilded Vulture. Protege, confidant, cartographer, atmospheric pundit, dietary attaché, raconteur, and alter ego to Captain Atticus Rafferty. It's quite a show you've got going, here, Bash- **love** what you've done with the drapes and all. But how does the throne work? Do the other men have one like yours, or do you all just take turns on this one?" 

"Dietary attaché?" 

"I select his menu. It's an unofficial title, though, I volunteer." 

"Mr. Sparrow,...may I call you Jack?" 

"If you like," Jack answered cagily. "May I call you Jim? Well, Jimmy, I've been having a bit of a row with your commander, since I apparently did-in his little gentleman friend -- as you've heard -- and I was hoping to stipulate remunerations, atop the initial levy, and square things with your men all around." 

Bash looked Jack over, slightly befuddled. "How old are you?" he asked. Jack took the breath to answer, only to clear his throat on it with a slight physical recoil, clearly chagrined by the question to some degree. Bash's smile returned. "Oh, so quiet _now_, Jack? Shall I take a guess? If _I_ were to guess, I'd say you were twelve- no, thirteen years old?" 

"Fourteen, sir." Fourteen. You know how to handle your pistol?" 

"Mine? Oh, nothing to it. You simply pull the trigger. It fires shots through the air, yeah? Where they stay- moving away from you- until they strike something, or run out of momentum and clatter to the ground." 

"I mean, are you quick to use it?" 

Jack stared at Bash, cold sober. "When I have to be." 

"And the lot you choose, you most likely have blood on your hands by now- human blood. Ah, to first strike vital, a lifetime of love and meaning, and possiblities, all just snuffed out by your own hand and no remorse." Jack's breathing went deeper; he stared into Bash, somehow waxing darker in his aspect without even flinching, as though his weight in horrid memories was playing over in the back of his mind. "Makes you feel like a man!" Bash pressed on zestfully. "Makes you feel like a god. But you're not a god, are you, little Jack?" 

"Not that I know of," Jack replied, the delivery solid and polished as ever. But the pitch behind it was now, for the first time, tremulous with sensitivity, it's ornate bravado subtly empty. "May I continue? I wish to supply reparations for the slaughter of Anwar's beast." 

"And for this, you needed to beg parley with me? You were afraid Anward would kill you, and from the look of that cut, it seems to me that he came awfully close. Poor Jack. No wonder you seem so intimidated." 

"I'm too clever not to be," Jack riposted, "but of your friend Anwar- well, I'm sure you granted him equal partnership before he started amending your will with his own. He's probably just bad at paraphrasing." 

Bash's face went a bit tight with anger. This was obviously a sore spot for him. "I will consider granting your request. A ransom, perhaps." 

"Exellent idea, Jimmy, that's what I'm talking about, two minds coming together to reach a proper accord, everybody wins. You set the figure, I fetch back a fitting bounty, we leave this place, never to darken your shores again, I **bloody** well hope." 

"And what if you fail?" 

"Come again?" 

"Hm, what say, if you fail,...I kill your crew." 

Jack's eyes widened. "That's hardly an apropos order to hang over me head, now, dear Jim. I did act defensively, but t'was through my action alone that the monster was killed. Like hunting a dumb animal, an issue of 'No Quarter' in this instance is beneath a gentleman such as yourself, with no sport to be had in it." 

"Like fish in a barrel, I suppose?" 

"Where's the glory, Jim, I put it to you?" 

"I'm amazed. You'd rather have it on your head and lose than put it on your crew and have their condemnation, should you succeed." 

"That's not what I said, now was it?" 

"I see. We're simply to keep your shipmates out of this." 

"Be much obliged for it, yeah." 

"Very well, then. What to do with the lone sparrow, should he fail? The Venetian slave boats come to trade with me at these shores every month or so... I trust the irony is not lost on you." 

Jack was now brimming with cunning mania, eyes flashing with a sort of odd, greedy hunger. "An ironic punishment for an innocent tresspass? I like you, Jim, a witty and ruthless man you are, after me own heart. And witty and ruthless ye must be, helming an operation such as this, with so much opportunity for descension and betrayal. It'd be enough to keep lesser men awake at night, wondering what would happen were they to turn their backs, if only for a moment..." And it was at that time that Anwar made his return. 

"Such a clever wight," Bash said austerely to Jack, "your captain must keep you on a short leash." 

"All the better that I don't rise up and bite the hand that feeds me, Jimmy. You'd do well to remember that." 

A sour mein wraught out on Bash's face. "_How precious_," he gnarled. 

Jack grinned enigmatically. "Yes, you should see me when I'm priceless." 

"Anwar, take our Sparrow back to the pen, will you? I want to prepare some addendums on my own, without nuisance." Anwar grabbed Jack by the arm as before, and Jack continued to smile suggestively, looking from Anwar to Bash as he left, thoroughly stirring up the commodore's vexation. 

Inside the Queen Mawu's clammy cellars was a makeshift brig where the party of the Vulture- among some other poor souls- were being held. The dark and humid cold of the stone enclosure brought a sharp, relieving contrast to the heat of the story above. Anwar manhandled Jack down the steps to the first alcove's gate, where a downtrodden guard ordered the others back from the bars and unlocked the cell door. Anwar strong-armed Jack over the threshold and personally slammed the gate, which buffeted Jack forward into the cell. Jack caught himself, mid-stumble, as if stopping on a dime. Before he could regain his special brand of balance, someone grabbed him by the forearm, wrenched him aside, and slammed him against the wall, choking him. The crew ignored it all, utterly unruffled. 

"Ah, captain!" Jack choked. "I've affected an accord with Bash." 

"_What'd I tell ye_?" Rafferty growled, tightening his grip. "_I said I'd handle it, I said back off it. Now I've had enough o' ye_." 

"I hear and understand your disconcertion!" Jack argued anxiously, straightening out Rafferty's shirt collar. "And I allow you'd be in the right with swift justice, but remember, a ship hand's worth more to you alive, at least relatively! You can take out your anger on me back aboard and be cleansed of it- have Turner mete out ten across the back with Cat- I know he's up for it- and I forego my next **six** shares to the crew, how's that sound?" Rafferty rolled his eyes pushed Jack aside, furiously. "Alright," Jack laughed nervously, holding himself up on the stone wall, "fifteen of the very best, and I let ye knock me teeth out- every one- clear out of my head! Now that'd be _real_ treat, you can't pass that up!" 

"Ye had a clear shot at redemption, and now ye're a dead man." 

"Listen, our covey is safe, sir. If Bash's word to you was to be trusted, than trust it now, the crew is not to be touched. You've nothing to fear, for them, or for yourself-." 

Something he'd said just then must've heightened the captain's anger, for Jack was cut abruptly off by a brutal backhand across the face that slammed his head into the wall. Giving no time for recovery, Rafferty took Jack up by the throat ferociously and pinned him to the wall. "_Daft bastard!_" he whispered violently. "_Ye're shark bate, now, swab. Do ye know what happens on the real sea t'hands that don't ye mind their orders?"_ Jack started to gasp and keck, his eyes squinting closed. Their was something warm and slimely under the captain's hand. It was a bit of blood, as the wound on Jack's neck had opened under stress. Rafferty quickly dropped Jack back against the wall and wiped the blood on his coat, without even looking at it. He huffed and took a seat on the floor, although it was a might difficult for him, having grown sluggish in his years. 

Jack's hat tipped forward on his head as he slid down the wall to sit beside his captain and catch his breath. He kept one knee crooked up to rest his arm over and took the little Eshu from his pocket, looking it over with an empty smile. "Maybe I do bring a curse," he choked hoarsly to it. "It'd explain alot." 

"Ye're not 'cursed'," Rafferty sighed, his voice sardonic and dry with exhaustion. 

"Just mad, then," said Jack with faux chipperness, "and I thank you not to horn in on our conversation." 

"Ye're not mad, either, that's an excuse." He plucked the doll from Jack's hand, irritated, and began gestering with it. "Ye're an idle, **insubordinate** tar- ye're mouthy, but ye're not mad. Just...a hellion, and I dunno what else. 

"Malingerer, sir," Jack offered, his ignominy finally authentic. 

"If ye know what ye are, then why do ye keep on?" 

"You think that I wouldn't stop if I could? All the fragments of sanity I own, every increment, I need just to breathe under this buggering fever of a brain. I haven't anything left to please 'reality', as some so affectionately call it. And any meager reserves of strength I've managed to cobble together are based on the hopes of someday-" his's voice and gaze went somehow far away- "getting to the place I need t'be at." He looked apologetically to Rafferty. "It's not a _corporal_ place- I should've said something before- but it's all I have to keep me in the journey." 

"Journey where?" Rafferty asked. 

"It's not the where, captain, it's the When. Slowly becoming a How." 

"Ye're not makin' any sense. Not e'en 'Jack Sense'. May be a bit weary." 

"I'm **very** weary, sir. Sometimes I'd like just as well t'lay down and die, but no. No, I can't, not 'til I've had my When. Might as well get something out of all this, eh? So I do what I can to wade in the drink and rest, and **live**, whenever I can. Let the voices speak their peace- who knows, they might have a very good argument. I _am_ sorry for you, but what would you have me do about it? You tell me what I'm to do- something Jack is _capable_ of doing- and, on my mother's grave-. 

"God ferbid." 

"_God f'bid_ -- I swear, I'll put my back into it." 

Rafferty looked Eshu over again, drawing a haggard breath. "Y'know, I've thought on it before, about what the hell ye are 'n' what ye mean, how I can understand ye...an' I come t'one conclusion. Ye're just inscrutable. When I hear the rubble comin' from yer head, I try t'sort through it, but it just makes rubble in me own. I don't want any part o' it, not e'en if it help me t'understand ye." 

"I'm terribly simple, really, some things are just apotheosis of themselves. There are the heavens, there are the seas, and there is Jack. It's everything else that's complicated." 

"What the hell didje just say?" 

Jack picked at a scab on his hand, looking down dejectedly. "Obviously nothing of importance, sir." 

"Ye realize, after supplies 'n' the toll, we have no swag left t'barter with?" 

"I did take that into account, yes." 

"So what's yer plan?" 

"Can't make one yet, we haven't settled on terms." 

"_Right_. Might I level with ye-." Rafferty looked at Jack, but was taken a bit off his guard; for some reason, he wasn't expecting the lad to be looking back at him, or wearing an absolutely wretched expression of indigence. The kind an animal wears, so recklessly frank about it's nature, it need not be articulated. It would've been more subtle to hit Rafferty with a skillet, and it was too much for him, facing anyone like that, so he looked away. "Well, that's all I got, Sparrow. Go on over t'Bootstrap, now, best get yerself in sorts before ye leave." 

Jack got spryly to his feet and crossed the alcove to the wall that Bill and Gabriel had been leaning against, trying to mind their own business. Bill's face lit up a bit when he saw Jack wander over to him. "So what's the plan?" he asked, rather enthused to hear. 

"Bash isn't finished with his quid pro quos and such," Jack said cheerlessly. "I won't know until he has." 

"That ain't what I meant," Bill snapped, jabbing Jack in the ribs. "Ye've got a plan and I know ye have, now out with it." 

"Honestly, William, I haven't the foggiest notion of what you mean." 

"Ye have," he jabbed Jack's side again, "I know that ye have, an' ye better tell me, 'cause _this_," he repeatedly jabbed Jack in the side and stomach, "can be done with a knife!" 

Jack started to chuckle and grin, but then stopped and held Bill's wrist away at arm's length. "Alright, **alright**. White flag here, I give. Notice, you always bring me around to your way of thinking?" 

"De plon?" Gabriel drawled, finally acknowledging him. 

"Yes, the plan!" Jack answered with enthusiasm. "Little plan, humble, wild stab. Who knew I was sensitive to tickling-. Yes, about the plan. Do you, by chance, remember that little story about the unholy silver?" 

"De one y'say was rubbish?" 

"Yes," Jack pecked, "that one- thank you for quibbling over semantics- may I get a word in? After all of our recent expenditures, we may not possess the proper assets to barter with Jimmy-." 

"_No_," Gabriel stated angrily. 

"No? You don't even know what I was going to say." 

"I'm nutt gwan t'help ya find de Cavers of Wickham." 

"I didn't even say that!" He turned to Bill, "Did you hear me say that? No," and then back to Gabriel, "see that? You just assumed and made an ass of you & him." 

"Den wott?" 

"I just need to borrow those old Papers of Marque you lifted off Braeden." 

"Oh. Wott Pape's of Marque?" Bill and Jack gave him an expectant, presumptoius look. "Fine," Gabriel admitted begrudgingly. He reached into his the breast of his coat and slipped out a banged up, flattened leather wallet. He opened and went through it, and noticed Jack peering over at the contents. "Dy'mind?" 

"Not really." 

"Wott is y'starin' ott?" 

"Right, like I'm so pressed to see your vulgar little drawings." 

"How d'ya know I hodd drawin's in he'e?" 

Jack looked around, self-consciously thoughtful. "...You just told me, _ha_. Out-smarted yourself again, didn't you, old man?" Gabriel moved away from the wall and toward him, which, for some unsaid reason, was enough to scare a meager bit of truth out of Jack. "Alright, so I might've gone through it once or thrice, but that's much beside the point, what are you wasting our time for? Give me the papers, thank you!" Gabriel slipped a well worn piece of folded parchment from the wallet and handed it to Jack. "Oh, one more thing," Jack added earnestly. 

"Wott?" 

"Can you tell me where the caverns are?" 

Gabriel ripped the papers from Jack's hand. "**No**, n-o. De fiery peets of hel a'e openin'! Go inta dem!" 

"You told me all about the curse, it's just one tiny piece among thousands!" 

"I say, 'No'." 

"You can say it 'til you're blue in the face, mate, it won't change who you're dealing with. I still don't see the harm in trading off some loaded bounty to an evil chappy who's just **begging** to be cursed- you should've heard what he said about you- so let's just suck up this fear of ju-ju thing you've got swinging and press on, unless you've got a better plan, in which case, let's here it?" 

He stared at Jack, confounded. "Child, ya gott de devil inside ya." 

"Well, I hope the devil likes grog, because _that's what he's getting_. I'm not running a bistro, here." He took in their serious expressions. "C'mon, that was hysterical, I don't care **who** you are." 

"Wott makes ya t'ink de cuss won't consume y'as well?" 

"Gabriel,- _Gabe_. I'm Jack Sparrow, savvy?" 

Bill leaned back against the wall and shook his head, laughing. "I hate when he does that," Bill said. 

"Oh, _that_ you laugh at," Jack muttered, deeply offended. "You don't have faith in me?" 

"Nay, I have, but the whole 'shamelessly self-promoted, thriteen-year-old gypsy' act's gotten t'be a tad droll." 

Jack straightened up and gave Bill a snotty glare. "I prefer 'tastefully disseminated, fourteen-year-old gitan' persona, if it's not too troubling." 

"Maybe Gabriel was right about ye bein' mad." 

"Gabriel? How can you listen to him, did you see what he did to me kidney?" Jack turned around, throwing his coat tails up over his shoulder, pulled his shirt out and up to his ribs to reveal a scarred up patch of skin above his waist, on the back of his right side. It had green scrawling: _"Property of Belgium"_

"Ya said dott's wott ya wonted," Gabriel retorted cooly. 

"_Drunk_!" Jack argued, tucking his shirt back in. 

"How was I t'know? Ya al-ways sound drunk." 

"**It'll be fine,**" Bill told them both firmly. "Ye can have it gone over, er burn it off." 

"You are not burning my flesh," said Jack defensively, "**period**. It's against the traditions of my people." 

"Just like it were against tradition fer ye t'stand in the gunnery when the cannons fire?" Bill asked. Jack smiled gratefully and nodded. "Oh, yeah, all about tradition, y'are. I'm beginnin' t'think yer just tan er somethin'." 

"How **dare** you," Jack hissed. "I don't go snapping gloves at _your_ heritage!" 

"I hove a quest'an," Gabriel said to Jack. "One dott plauge mi mind f'some time, now. If y'be Manouche, den why do y'hate de French?" 

"Why do I What the Who?" Jack gasped in quiet shock. "I don't 'hate' them, that's a rather unworthy conclusion -- I expected better from you, Gabriel. I **admire** the French, really, but if you are in any way implying that _my_ people belong to the nation of France, then you've significantly mistaken the definition of 'belong'. And also of 'vagrancy', and 'racial misprize'." 

"T'be honest, I mistake mosta de wo'ds y'use. Don't got de time nuh de patience t'waste on y'lip, child, y'big talk just f'show- show not'ing but a littel cobweb witt a big moutt." Jack let a quick, saturnine glare out at Gabriel before looking away in resentment. "Aye, de 'old mon' see right t'rough ya. But he nutt playin', now. Ya talk straight t'I, Jack Sparrow, I con gyve ya wo'se den a tattoo on y'hide. Dem wo'ds big enough f'ya? Y'gwan t'stop gyvin' me crosses?" 

_Does he really expect a nod t'that?_ Jack wondered, thoughts running lightening-fast through his head. _Gabriel's grand as gods at arguing and, normally, fighting like this gives us both a little buzz. He **must** be bluffing, he knows I'd never agree t'stop torturing him, it's me bloody livelihood! But then, there's the possiblity that he isn't bluffing. His words are more than just **leaning** towards a threat. And if there's one thing old Gabriel does better than argue, it's follow up on his threats... Damn. _ Jack grumbled, swallowed his pride, and let "Aye" be his begrudged answer. 

"Wott I t'ought," Gabriel grumbled, and took better notice of the blood on Jack's throat. "Lemme see dott." He put his hand behind Jack's neck and pulled him forward, calmly examining the wound and turning Jack's chin up with his thumb. 

"Is it very bad?" Jack asked gravely, his head falling back. "Will I be needing a tourniquet?" 

"Don't b'so t'eotrical," Gabriel reproved. "T'is an ugly slice, but he didn't nick anyt'ing vital, y'shood b'fine." 

"Good, then," Jack began again, his up-beat sprightliness returning, "many thanks, I owe you a pint! Now, about those papers?" 

As it went, Jack spent two more hours with his crewmates, lazing about in the alcove before Anwar came back down the stairs. The guard beckoned Jack over. "Sparrow," he said, "it's your time, now!" 

Gabriel sat on the floor in the corner with Jack in front of him, and was twisting Jack's hair into dreads. "I t'ink I hea' a duppy cyallin'," he joked, reposefully going about his work. 

"S'pose it's important?" Jack joked back. 

"Gwan," Gabriel said, and topped Jack with his tricorne, "f'dey wet demselves." 

Jack straighten the hat, drew himself up, crossed to the gate, and was released from the cell to Anwar, who took him up by the arm, this time not as roughly. He hesitated before taking him away. "So ye'll be leavin' us fer a time," he said to Jack smugly. "Best o' luck, lad. I hear the Venetians beat their slave boys. Beat them,...an' _other_ nasty things." 

Jack took a glance back over his shoulder at the cell long enough to get varying looks of questioning or concern from some of the crewmen, then glanced back at Anwar's maleficent face, forcing a smile. "You want a fight, I'm right here, swab. Willing and waiting to blow out the candles." 

"That so?" Anwar laughed. "Idiot. I eat little excrement like ye fer breakfast." 

"Idiot?" Jack sent a smirk back to the guard. "I'm not the one that eats excrement for breakfast." The guard started to crack up, his chortling carried over to the crew, and it wasn't long before Jack had nearly all of them laughing out loud. Anwar -- who really couldn't think of anything to say back at Jack -- was beside himself with fury. Jack simply beamed at him. "Did I make you cross? Woops. You're the commander, _do_ something about it, **kill me**." 

"I'd love to," Anwar growled lividly, practically crushing Jack's slight arm in his hand. "But the commodore want's ye alive 'n' able, fer now." 

"And do you always do everything your master tells you?" 

Anwar gave Jack a good, stringent shake. "Bash is no one's master, we are _all_ free men." 

"Out of the pan and into the fire, I'd say. Well - I'm only guessing pan - how _does_ one serve up excrement?" 

The sun had set in Oguaa as Bash and some of his men congregated in the front room of the tavern. Anwar was coming up from the cellar as everyone was alienated by the echoing sound of bizarre, throaty lyrics being sung: 

_"I live alone in a tree,  
I live alone in a tree,  
I live alone in a tree,  
And nobody loves me!"_

Anwar stepped up to the men and threw Jack down and Bash's feet. The commodore stepped back and looked analytically at the curious, huddled heap of a lad that knelt before him. Jack was bloodied and marked up, obviously from a fresh pommeling, and didn't look much better than death, warmed-over. Only the fact that he could move and the sleepy, satisfied grin on his face were proof he hadn't been killed. Bash turned his eyes up to Anwar with fervent disdain. "This is hardly 'alive and able'," said Bash. "It seems you've let your anger have the run of you, _again_." 

"Nothin' t'bellyache about," Anwar snorted venomously. "That li'l walkin' mouth'll fail anyways, might as well get accustomed t'a good goin' over from his betters." 

"Clearly you haven't the faintest notion of who _your_ betters are, young Anwar. If you're all through paraphrasing my will?" Anwar sneered and turned away from the crowd, slinking to the back of the tavern. Bash knelt down and gave Jack his best condescending tone and smile. "And how are we this evening?" he asked Jack, very amused with himself. 

"Never better," Jack answered drowsily, but then searched himself admittingly. "Oh, true, I'm a bit worn at the seams these days, but on the other hand, I could sleep well tonight, so...how's about you?" Once again, Bash found himself biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to let his anger show in front of the crew- he couldn't give Jack the satisfaction. Jack didn't seem very interested, though. He just went on singing. "_...Cows in the morning, cows in the morning, one two three, up and at them, up and at them, with a pick._" 

Getting a hold of the boy at his shoulders, Bash raised Jack up to his eye-line to straighten his legs out, then lighted him back down to stand upright, only to have Jack's knees buckle out from under him. It almost seemed like Jack was giving him trouble, but he was definately doing it on purpose -- he smiled when he heard the children laugh at his clowning. "Enough napping," Bash told him, trying to sound calm and making a mess of it. "And singing. It's time you went out to fetch that bounty, hm? You'll wake up and listen to the terms?" 

"I _was_ listening," Jack said over his shoulder, as though he couldn't tell where Bash's voice was coming from. "C'mon, me Jimmy, let's have the new terms." 

Bash was almost out of patience with Jack, taking the boy's face in his hands and talking into it. "Wake up!" he prompted. Jack's eyes snapped wide open and his face went sober for a glimmer of a moment before falling back on their previous nature. "What are you trying to pull?" 

"Can you recall the state I was in when you met me?" asked Jack. "Was it any different from this?" 

"Yes, very well. We've a reasonably-sized wagon for you. Just fill it over with treasure- without stealing from our little cash town- and you and your shipmates are free to go." 

"Speaking of me covey," Jack piped up, launching back into his usual brightness, "there's a man among us, Dr. Gabriel- lovely old salt- his family's settled and hidden away in a comfy corner of Elmina, I can foot it there- really, I'm a wayfarer from way back. I was hoping I could bring this note," he whipped out the tatty, folded parchment from his waistcoat pocket and slipped it back just as quickly, "to his grandkinder, to let them know their granddad sanctioned the fund." 

"That's convienient. If you have no objections to the bounty, then I'll bring back Anwar to escort you." 

"_Objection_!" By the time he'd finished his panicked exclamtion, Jack found he'd grabbed hold of Bash's jacket in his desperation, and so then timidly removed his hands from the material and smoothed it out. "This is lovely, what is it, cotton? Double ply? It just hangs so well on ye, very becoming! I see this coat and I think, that's Jim's coat- _that's_ the coat of a commodore. Suits ye." 

"Do you have an objection, or not?" Bash chortled, regaining his savor of the moment. 

"Just one tiny, miniscule issue. As I have said, Gabriel family's is hidden away in Elmina. Now, if I take one of your men to their homestead, they couldn't very well be hidden, now could they?" 

"You want us to send you out, alone, with a wagon? Why don't we give you a ship instead?" 

"Consider the plot, Jimmy. Why would I have worked so hard to keep the crew safe, only to flee and leave them at your mercy? I could've gotten out of my cell at any time." 

"You realize I'm not a fool, little Jack..." Before Bash could finish, Jack produced a ring of keys from inside his belt, giving them a little shake for affect. "How long have you had those?" 

"Long enough to be back on me brigantine by now, for one man can affect an escape more easily than a dozen. I need only have told the first mate that the others fell behind, and you'd never see me again- you'd be surprised how fast the Vulture can move when we put our oars out. Lovely things, sweeps, I'm going to have them on all my ships." 

"Fine, you want your crew back, I'm convinced." He ripped the keys from Jack's hand. "I'm a man of my word." 

Jack eyed Bash's crucifix. "You must swear by the Holy Bible," Jack said seriously. 

"Oh, I must? Very well, son, on the Good Book, I do swear, and Christ to spare my immortal soul." Bash crossed himself with a deigning smile. "So be on your way and remember, there's not a place on this coast where I can't find you." 

"S'pose I'm off, then. Lads!" He turned to Bash's men. "Everyone, queue up to say g'bye!" Two of the crewmen came foreward, each taking one of Jack's arms, and proceeded in dragging him from the tavern. "Sorry, I meant one at a time. No shoving, I swear, I'll get to everyone..." 

The two men wordlessly brought Jack out and around to the back of the tavern, where a large, empty hay wagon was being hitched to a blasé, grey pack mule with a rope-bridle. When finished, the men went back to the tavern and left Jack in the night. He hadn't stood in the dark for more than a moment before a girl in orange, one of the ladies he'd seen serving drinks inside, stepped up to him. She was a lovely but tired looking girl, seeming to have seen many a trial, and her expression was fierce and honest. She was baring two torches and Jack assumed one was for him. "How very considerate," he began, and got hold of one of the torches, but the girl would not let go. She simply stared back at him icily. "Is there a problem, miss?" 

"You let him do that to you," she said of his wounds and bruises. "You provoked Anwar?" 

"Only a little," he admitted. 

"You've been stirring up trouble with Bash as well. What do you mean, getting them so riled?" 

"Something we should get straight here, mum," Jack said, and slipped into a pleasant grin, "I never explain _anything_." 

"I won't tell them," she said, her truthfulness quite apparent. "But you tell me what it means. I'm not a fool, sir." 

"What a coincidence, niether am I- we could be cousins- may I have a torch?" 

"Not until you tell me." 

Jack sighed. Poor girl, she obviously didn't know who she was dealing with. He started pulling the torch to himself, but the girl's arm wouldn't move. He tried again, harder, and again the same- she was a strong waitress, but then, most waitressed were. Jack's eye twitched; he knew he couldn't pull the torch from her hand. "Don't make me take it forcibly," he bluffed. 

"Just tell me, why are you pitting them against each other? Do you find amusing to tear two allies apart?" 

"Truthfully, I don't care spit for their friendship. They're brutal, heartless bastards, which I respect, but they've no human feeling for my fate, or for that of my associates. Or to that effect, it seems they have no human feeling at'all. And Anwar..." Jack trailed off; he'd promised himself that he'd learn to keep his mouth shut. But this girl- what could she possible do to him, other than send him out into the night without a torch? "Your precious commander would have me killed for the death of his beast. And it stands to reason that, if Anwar wants me dead, and Jim is opposed to Anwar, then Jim is more likely to keep me alive, if only to spite his friend, and I seem to have conjectured correctly, 'cause here I stand. The stitches where already loose, love, I only gave them a tug." 

The woman took a breath through her nose, angry, but not violent. "I have to stay here," she said, "and live in the mess your making." 

"And let Bash keep on ruling over all of you, sitting on his little thrown." 

"**You don't understand**. The commodore stood up for us. He took us off the ships bound for the Americas, he _freed_ us." 

"And for what? Look around, pet, does this look like freedom to you?" 

"This is my home." 

"But it's not a good home," said Jack sympathetically. "And I know something about that. You want to leave, but you don't think you can get out alive. You're afriad, I can't blame you, but don't take it out on me, love. I've found my own way out and I'm gonna take it while I can. I suggest you do the same." 

Some sadness, heaviness, melted into her eyes. "They'll never let me go," she said, hopelessly. 

"Are there others that feel the way you do?" She cast her eyes down and nodded. "How many?" 

"Most all of us, but they're afraid. They'll never stand up to Bash." 

"They don't have to. You have eight, twenty-eight gun ships docked at the peer. Grab your families and run the hell away. I mean it, you'd be surprised what running away from your problems can do t'relieve them." 

"Run and go where? Even if Bash doesn't find us, the slave traders will." 

"With eight giant, twenty-eight gun vessels, I pity the traders that happen upon your private island." 

"Private island?" 

"There are countless islands in the Caribbean alone, miss, I think you'll find many empty ones. Otherwise, there'd be no marooning." 

"We could just...take an island?" 

Jack smiled coyly, as if to intimate the lawlessness of it. "Well, no one's using them, eh? T'is a far fairer chance at survival than any awaiting you here. At the very least, you'll have given it a try, and you can always change plans and find another anchorage." 

"How can you talk so brave at me?" she skeptically asked. "Who did you escape from?" 

"Well, I'll give you a hint," he said confidentially. "I can _never_ go back to Dover." The girl laughed to herself,...she let him have a torch. They exchanged grateful smiles. Feeling they'd tested the waters decent enough, Jack leaned in close- close enough for him to feel her breath and, unfortunately, for her to smell his. "You know, torch light very much becomes you," he said keenly. The girl's expression went simply vinegar; she rolled her eyes scornfully, turned, and walked straight away from him. "That a 'no,' then?" Jack asked, completely flummoxed. He held the torch up and waited a second or two for her return. "Well, _fine_," he added irefully, "who needs you?" He swaggered over and took the mule's rein. "You wanna stay with me, don't ye dunkey? C'mon, let's find us a cavern." The mule followed thoughtlessly as Jack lead him and the wagon away from the tavern and into the forests. 

As they went, listening to he sounds of the forest wildlife, Jack searched the night sky, looking for a star. "_Ha!_" he said to the mule. "Polaris! Told ye I'd find it. That one, right there," he pointed vertically with his torch, drawing the mule's attention, "no, not there- _there_. That's the North Star. See, I know where I'm going, we're well on our way, just need to find a stream that comes off the falls." Jack haulted and stopped the mule. Letting the rein go, Jack took the papers of Marque from his waistcoat and looked them over by torchlight. There was a smudged map drawn on it with cole, a little llama drawn in the corner behind a compass rose. "There _is_ a waterfall here, it don't have a name, but-." He turned around guardedly and held the torch out. There was a hyena, growling and sitting in the path they'd traveled. "So the road has eyes?" Jack mused. "It's a good thing Jim trusts me, eh? Well!" He hunched forward and split into a ludicrous grin, addressing the hyena. "Who's pretty? Who's a pretty duggy, hm?" The Hyena got to it's feet, growling louder. "You can get back t'me on that." Jack turned back, put the map away, and started hastily down the road again. 

After a while he laughed to himself, went to the end of the rein, and turned back to the hyena. "Look," Jack laughed, "a jackass leading a jackass! That's hysterical, I don't care who you are!" The hyena stared to make a sound like laughing, looking up at Jack happily and panting with his tounge falling out. He seemed to enjoy that a lot, most likely responding to Jack's friendliness. "Oh, you liked that, did you? Hmm...who was the greatest female financier in the Bible?" The hyena tilted his head. "Pharaoh's daughter," Jack told him, "she went down to the bank of the Nile and drew out a little prophet!" That joke went over better than the first, the hyena trotted up and started cantering beside Jack, looking up at the young pirate with enthusiasm as they went. Jack spoke to the creature, all the while minding the stars and his path. "See, that's all it takes," said Jack, "a little altruism, we're all basically the same, yeah? We want the same things, and we can always use a bit of help. I'm always trying t'help people, but some of them, they mean t'make ye work for it. They just don't have faith- now how the hell am I supposed to manipulate them, if they don't even trust me? Not that I manipulate people. I'm just rather good at deciding where everyone goes, and at helping them get there, savvy? It's a gift, I suppose, but it seems so obvious t'me. Nice people go on the boat, and bad people go in the pile." The hyena wagged his stubby little tail. "They go in the pile, _yes they do_! You know what? I'm gonna call you Billy Hyena. You do remind me of William- he can be great fun t'be around when he's in a good mood. Speaking of which, how do you like grog? It's the best, mate, it has rum and sugar, it's brilliant!" 

Back at the Queen Mawu, Bash had decended to the cellar, pacing infront of the first cell. Bubbly, obvoiusly up to no good, he stopped and beackoned to one of the pirates. "You, there!" he said. "Old man. Come here." 

A few of captive crewmen looked amonst each other. Gabriel stepped way from the wall, his head high, lips surpressing a proud smile. "Speakin' t'I, bwoy?" was his laid-back reply. 

"_Yes_," Bash said enthusiastically. "Come here, I wish to speak with you." Gabriel walked up to the bars. "I wanted to ask you," Bash continued wickedly, "if, in your opinion, the men are really certain that Sparrow will return?" 

Gabriel's smile became more pronounced. "I'm suttun he'll _try_. Be a common spirott amongst de men, yeah. We trust each uddah, witt our lives. Ya, dough, ya likely t'be stobbed in de bock -- soo sudd." 

Bash sneered at him agrily. "It's almost touching to see such loyalty wasted on a cabin boy." 

"Jack's no cabin boy," Bill growled defensively, stepping up quickly to the bars. "He's a cartographer." As as the commodore snickered at him dismively, Bill went to one of the other men, took a folded leather map from him, and thrust it angrily under Bash's nose. Bash took the thing and unfolded it, then scanned it with his eyes, some of the smugness falling away from his face. 

"Nice work, that," came Rafferty's voice suddenly. Like always, he'd taken everyone by surprise with the silent, undetectable way he had of moving among people. The men parted to let him up straight to Bash. "Sparrow can turn quite a few o' those out in a week," the captain went on. "Also has quite a gift fer predictin' the weather, an' would still be no mere deck hand b'sides. But I can tell ye've known that since he opened his mouth, this be only a sad li'l mind game from a desp'ritt man." 

"What is _that_?" Bash asked disgustedly, pointing out the legend. 

Rafferty took the map and looked at the indicated icons. He was silent a moment before answering. "They be llamas," he said, more to himself than to Bash. 

"There's a pair of llamas on his map," the commodore muttered sarcastically, shaking his head. 

Rafferty continued to look exclusively at the map, quietly involved, as though he'd stumbled upon some sort of meaning. "'Course there is," he said, somewhat moved. 

Still wandering the foggy forests of Oguaa, the time went by quickly for Jack, talking with his quiet traveling companions as he followed the map he and Gabriel made. It wasn't long before Jack could hear the rushing sound of water. They'd come upon the secluded, unnamed water fall. Dark and lovely, it was only about three stories high, at least as far as Jack could tell in the darkness. "Well, I'll be damned!" he said vivaciously. He raised the torch and took a few steps forward to get a better look. "Count on old Gabriel t'come through. C'mon, lads, time t'brave the-." Jack turned to see his companions backing off from the falls. The hyena was whimpering. "Bloody shrinking violets," Jack cursed, and stormed forward to deal with them, when he felt something... Or did he hear something? He definately heard something- the singing, compelling sound of metal, like a sword being unsheathed. Without thinking, Jack turned about and stepped into the shallow bank of the river at the foot of the waterfall, walking along the edge with a dumbfouded expression. 

The heavy mists from the falls nearly put Jack's torch out as he wedged between the water and rock. "So that's the backside of water..." Jack turned away from the wall and headed deaper into the dark, wide, corridore-like caverns, ignoring the shiver that went down is spine at he faced the cold, vaporous wind that whipped at the last flames of his torch. After a minute of walking, he turned a corner; the dwindling fire from his torch threw a shimmering white light on the cavern wall. Jack turned around and found himself standing at a natural archway, squarely in front of a bower in the caverns that was practically teaming with treasure. It was mostly silver, but there were gold and other valuables littering the piles of precious metal. "I'll be _god_-damned," Jack whispered breathlessly. There was a dusty old torch bolted to the cave wall. Jack caught it fire, dropped his torch on the murky ground, and flounced lustfully into the treasure grotto, smiling the most fiendish smile to ever light up a mortal face. He ran his hand over the silver coins lovingly, playing his fingers over them, like they were piano keys, as they slide down the treasure pile. "But where's the one I need?" he whispered, not even realizing what he was saying- he was practically in a trance. Before he knew it, he was knocked violently upside the ear with something, toppling him quickly and sending him sprawling on his side. He looked back to see what hit him, completely speechless. It was a little person, about three and a half feet tall, elderly, British. He was holding a long, iron miner's shovel, looking down at Jack definantly. A thin silver chain shown around his neck and dissapeared under his striped naval shirt. Jack was grimacing in pain, he could barely make words. "You're a little..." 

"Get up, boy," the man growled threateningly, in a slightly high voice. When he saw the darkening bruises that Anwar left on Jack's face, the little man flinched. 

"So the stories _are_ true," Jack slurred to himself, wincing and holding his ear as he rose to his feet. "You're one of the brother's Wickham?" 

"Very good," the man said. "I suppose these stories told you the fate of my brothers?" 

"You killed them." 

"Yes, and I think you'll be a fine appendix to the legends," said Wickham. He raised the shovel, about to take a swing, and Jack started searching his pockets, frustratedly. Wickham stopped, mid-swing. "What are you looking for?" he asked. 

"Pocket sand," Jack said absetly. Before Wickham could ask what he meant, Jack took a handful of sand from his pocket and threw it in Wickham's eyes, blinding him. Wickham cursed and rubbed his eyes furiously. By the time he could see again, he'd opened his eyes to find Jack had taken his shovel and turned the sharp end on him. Wickham leapt back and darted away to the back of the bower, behind a mountain of swag. Jack raised the shovel and followed him, but before he could get very far, Wickham rounded on him from the other side of the heap, lunging with a rusted broad sword- cutting it close, Jack deflected the blow and countered it awkwardly, trying to get the hang of the long, heavy, unbalanced shovel. He still wasn't used to an opponent of that height- he had enough trouble fighting in general. So the insuing brawl was shaky: circling, lunging, parrying, riposting, advancing and retreating on each other, Jack feinting and doing his best to throw anything in reach at Wickham, but the man was fast. A little _too_ fast. 

Jack thought aloud, finally gaining confidence from finding a good rhythm in the fight, "I wish I could say I'm going to miss you, Wickham," which caused the small man to laugh out-loud at the lad's presumption. Jack pitched the broad side of his shovel down, overhand, on the end of Wickham's sword, stomped on the hilt of the blade so that it fell from Wickham's grip, and- after a grand, circular swing- swept the shovel up, batting Wickham in the jaw with such momentum, it took the little man off his feet and sent him slamming into the pile of silver behind him, coins raining down to the ground. Jack picked up the old sword and held the point to Wickham's throat. 

"I'll be requiring your help to fill my wagon," Jack panted. "Unless you'd like me to take your wee head off with this, I'd suggest you hop to it." 

"You wouldn't kill me," Wickham said, "you haven't got it in you -- you're too young." 

Jack grinned at him sunnily. "How young were you when you killed your brothers?" Wickham narrowed his eyes at Jack acidically. 

After the several minutes it took to coax the mule into the caverns and situate the wagon infront of a lofty pile of silver, Wickham shoveled coins from the top of the mound into the wagon while Jack kept watch on him, acting as though he'd love any reason to kill the poor man. After quite a bit of work, the wagon was filled to compassity. "S'pose this clears up our business, urchin," said Wickham bitterly. He leapt down from the scavenged pile and backed away from Jack toward the end of the bower. "Now why don't you leave an old man in peace?" 

"I'll do just that," Jack said with an accommodating nod. "Toss the shovel away." Wickham did so. Jack smiled and turned back to the mule, about to drop the sword, but he heard it again. No, felt it this time, like a tugging at his heart- something he needed was there. He turned back to Wickham, his eyes gone dead like a shark before the kill. "Where is it?" 

"I don't know what your talking about." 

"Is it on you, or have you squirrled it away somewhere?" 

"You'll never find it. None of the others did. I was far too clever-." 

"You're _wearing_ it," Jack said in realization. "It's on that chain, give it here!" Wickham pulled at the chain around his neck, breaking it off. Jack scoffed, "Oh, as if you're too good to work a clasp?" 

Wickham pulled a little, unassuming silver ring off the chain and put it on his finger. "I wonder if the stories tell of the ring's power?" he chuckled insanely. "You'll never get this ring off my finger, not without killing me!" 

Jack grinned merrily and shrugged. "Then I'll just have t'kill you." He pulled the sword back for a lunge with both hands, but didn't follow through. His expression became angry, violent, and he began to shake, but still, his actions were frozen. 

Wickham laughed. "The silver bids you to kill, so kill! It's the only way you'll get it off my hand." 

"An' so Jack **plunges** it into Wickham's chest!" Gibbs interupted, miming the action excitedly. "He makes a cavity with the blade, then punches his fist in, gets a hold o' Wickham's heart, and rips it whole from the rib cage!" 

"Would _you_ like to tell it?" Will snorted in frustration. 

Gibbs stopped and looked at Will and Elizabeth, then at Jack, who was looking back at Gibbs calmly, seemingly content to let him take over. Gibbs smiled. "I'll let Jack tell the story, he tells it best..." 

"The silver bids you to kill, so kill! It's the only way you'll get it off my hand." Jack cursed to himself, raised the blade like an ax, roared, and brought it down swiftly. He chopped Wickham's hand off, and blood started pooring. Wickham fell to his knees and held his forearm, begining to scream from shock. He goggled wide eyed at the stump, and then he began to bellow in pain. 

Jack dropped the sword, knelt down at Wickham's side, and feverishly worked the ring off the bloody, severed hand. Once gotten, he started for the wagon, but Wickham's screaming stopped him dead, made him turn back. And so Jack gaped at the scene, taking in all the violent color, his chest starting to heave. He shook the fist that held the ring at Wickham. "I _told_ you to give it to me," Jack said. "You _made_ me do it, y'know, you did it to yourself. It was **your** fault- _you wouldn't give me what I asked for_- I should've **killed** you." Jack stepped away from Wickham, practically hyperventilating. "...A-anyone else would've, was that what you wanted?" Not letting himself be overwhelmed, he clapped his fists over his ears and shut his eyes, breathing to a theraputic beat, breaking in and out of a whimper like a madman. "_Hmmm_, t'**hell** with you, I'm getting out of here..." He pocketed the ring, forced himself to turn right around, and took off. He charged up to the mule, took his rein, and began leading him out. 

Jack glazed over, deap in thought over something. Elizabeth looked on him sympathetically. After a beat, he composed himself and went on. 

Back in the inn's celler, Gabriel leaned quietly against the wall, happy as a clam, while Bill paced angrily nearby, like a caged animal. He stopped when he caught Gabriel's happy expression. "What are ye smilin' about?" Bill asked, testy. 

Gabriel shrugged. "Not'ing." 

"What do ye think'll happen t'ye if Jack fails?" 

"He won't." 

"How can ye be so sure he won't end up dead?" 

"Child knows dott, if he dies, I shoot miself in de head and come ofte'him. Dott plon shoodn't comfo't _ya_ any, dough, keep pacin'." 

Bash sat in a chair infront of the sell, continuing to study the map he'd taken back from the captain, trying to reconcile the pointless grazing llamas with the intricate polish of geometric diagrams Jack had laid over his well-shaded rendering of an island grouping, using vivid inks and designs to distinguish roads and settlements; he would've had to work from several maps of varying perspectives to create such a detailed work. It made Bash dizzy and sick- how could such a horrid young monstrosity be blessed with this ability by God- it could not have been his work! Or if it was, he'd made a devil-bargin for it. God or devil, Bash had to admit to himself, he was impressed. "I should like to take this to my son," he said quietly. "I've seen him drawing on walls and scraps of paper, learning the trade of cartography would be more pratical for him." 

"I'd apreciate ye not gi'en that t'yer boy," Rafferty said, leaning forward on the bars casually. "No offense meant, but I wouldn't be able t'take it back, can't stand children." 

"You seem rather chummy with Sparrow," Bash jibed. 

"I resent that," came a voice from the stairwell. Jack, who had aquired back his baldrick and pistol, was fastidiously decending the steps with an insanely smug expression on his bruised and battered face. "Don't bother rising t'meet me, I just dropped in t'say the bounty's here for your inspection." 

After Bash had gone above, the guard, with no order to do so, unlocked the cell and set the party of the Vulture free. They followed Jack up to the ground level, where only Bash and Anwar stood, slightly enraged. Jack had driven the wagon straight into the main room and since unleashed the mule. In fact, most eveything in the tavern was gone, though that was none of Jack's doing. He'd just figured that the little waitress would have the decencey to let them off the coast before clearing out. But he did feel it was almost worth it to see the look on Bash's face. Unfortunately, Bash saw the look on _Jack's_ face, rightly presuming the boy had something to do with the his situation. 

"What have you done?" Bash hollered at Jack. 

"Your men told me to bring the bounty in!" Jack hollered back puckishly, enjoying every moment. "I delivered my end of the bargin, and, on your honour, you must release us." 

"I told ye!" Anwar shouted at Bash. "I said he'd cross us if he had the chance, now it's the traders' galleon fer 'im!" 

"I'm rather inclined to agree with Anwar," Bash said to Rafferty. "The rest of you men can go, but Sparrow stays to pay his debt." 

Rafferty glared at Jack from the corner of his eye. "Oh, t'hell with the debt," he whispered. "I'll kill ye meself. Ye were nearly clear of 'em, why didje do it?" 

Jack's jaw droppped- in shock, apparently. "You just assume that _I've_ done something?" he asked, sounding betrayed. 

"I do, 'cause I know ye, now why didje do it?" 

Jack started shrinking away from Rafferty like a beat dog, his brows knit compunctiously. He turned his eyes away in time to see Bash sorting fervently through the surface of the treasure pile, with Anwar looking on in confusion. "Didje hear that call?" Anwar asked. 

"It must be here," Bash said to himself, "it _has_ to be..." 

Jack's eyes went wide with apprehension. He reached into his waistcoat pocket, took the silver ring in his hand, and looked to Rafferty with a pained frown, not entirely certain of what he wanted to do. Rafferty glanced down at him, giving him- in one second- such a chastening scowl, Jack wondered if the captain really did know what he was thinking. Jack shut his eys, said a prayer for strength from "whomever's listening," and flung the ring out toward the pile of silver. Bash and Anwar's eyes followed the little ring as it clattered atop the coins. "That's the last of it," Jack piped up hopefully. "Shall I stay and count it with you 'til the traders arrive?" 

"_**No,**_" Bash said quickly, never taking his eyes off the ring. "Take your leave of us, I'm letting you go." 

Anwar looked at Jack, then the ring, then Bash, and back at Jack, resting his hand on his sword's pommel. "Aye, ye have a blind eye," he said cryptically, letting his clever eyes jump back to Bash and the ring. "Leave us t'our business." 

Jack turned to Bill and shifted his eyes to the door importantly. Bill- who'd been slightly transfixed with the ring as well- snapped to back to attention, nodded, and started herding his fellow crewmen out. As Gabriel passed, Jack gave him a princely smile, which Gabriel returned with a sneer, much to Jack's despondence. 

Meanwhile, as the men were leaving, Jack noticed Rafferty looking about himself, squinting densely. "D'ye hear that?" he muttered. "Sounds like..._metal_? No..." 

Jack dashed to Rafferty's side and helped him out by his elbow primly, the two gents leaving Bash and Anwar to their bounty. Jack tried not to laugh too much as they hit the peer. "Time t'give 'em wake, captain," he cajoled, "the Vulture bides for us." 

"Ah, yes," said Rafferty, starting remember himself. "Best not tarry." 

And so it was much later, as the ship sailed west and the sun began to rise over the Atlantic, that Bill stood above deck on the Gilded Vulture again, leaning against the main mast and sighing from exhaustian. Jack leaned out from the other side of the mast, frowning appraisingly at his friend's placid, unsuspecting expression. He moved in intrusively close to Bill's ear, unable to keep a straight-face. "Hello, William!" he barked suddenly, scaring the daylights out of Bill. 

"Can ye not do that?" Bill shouted. 

Jack gave him a little bow. "F'give me," he said. "I come t'give ye five-to-one that I spot the next sail b'fore ye. And I'll give ye a sporting chance, I'm staying out of the rigging altogether." 

"Ye have the next one," Bill laughed sleepily. "Just need t'get on account again t'start up the circulation. Maybe spend a share in Tortuga, should we happen by. Find meself a Winnie, or a Jenny. Or both, it's been..._quite_ a stretch." 

"Well, you can keep Winnie and Jenny, I'll take their dear mother." Bill looked at Jack questioningly. "Well, she didn't get Winnie and Jenny from a manger, now did she?" 

They paused their conversation as Gabriel passed by them, headed for the lower decks. "He's got daggers fer ye, now," Bill said. 

Jack examined the topsail. "Really?" he asked. "I hadn't noticed." 

"Have it yer way. Didje take that pistol to 'im?" 

Jack snapped his fingers. "The pistol, damn me, I'd all but forgot." He took off quickly, shadowing after Gabriel and following him below deck. "Gabe!" he called out, descending the companionway. Gabriel stopped and turned, sporting his usual placid expression. "Oh, good," Jack said, slightly pleased. "You're in a glad mood. I've come to make it better." He took the pistol from his belt and held it out to Gabriel by the barrol. "Your compensation." 

"Dun't need it," Gabriel anwered simply. 

"I don't care if you need it, you're going t'take it, so here!" Jack pulled the neck of Gabriel's shirt out and dropped the gun down it. "Enjoy!" 

"Wott de ye wont, child?" 

"What do I want? Mad, old bastard, I want you t'say things are square between us, god! Rather fed up with your flaming hissies, as of late." 

"We square, I dun't know wott ya gwan on about." 

"Then why are you shooting me dark looks?" 

"Just a so'e losa; ya got Anwar to wo'k ya ove' bodd, let him beat me to it. Next time ya wont a fott lip, ya shood trust Gabriel enough to do it f'ya. He could've keeled ya -- ya know dott?" 

Jack smiled weakly. "Are you very cross at me?" 

"T'is a docta's way. I tend t'worry about de crew, and ya includudd. Dun' take it too sirius, dough, t'is not'ing pe'sonal." Gabriel took the Eshu doll from his breast pocket and held it out to Jack. "Ya dropped dis on Littel Tom." 

Jack took the doll, confused. "I gave this t'the captian." 

"Best take it bock to'im, den." 

"Isn't there something you'd like to say to me before I go?" Jack asked, grinning. 

"Ain't got not'ing t'say t'ya," Gabriel blustered, turning Jack around and giving him a shove up the stairs. "Gwan, out, fo'e ya find yaself cobbed." 

Jack laughed to himself as he took the wooden steps two at a time, went above deck again, and quietly scaled the short, ornate companionway to the quarter-deck and port bulkward, where Rafferty stood, watching the wake from the side of the ship, as he sometimes did. "Need somethin, Sparrow?" he asked. Jack stopped and cursed to himself- he could've sworn he'd been silent. Rafferty smirked to himself in a nasty, vicious way. "I watched the blackbirders sail out southward, without their commodore and commander. Seems the Gold Coast may be freed up fer sweet trade again someday soon." 

"Then you understand my actions?" Jack asked. 

"I...wouldn't go just that far, yet, but I see the ends. Ye done well by yer ship." 

"Rather spared you feel that way, sir. I was afraid you were going t'hold me to all that 'giving up my shares' bilge,...not that I wasn't serious-." 

"There some **reason** yer irritatin' me?" 

"Just one," Jack said desolately, as he walked up beside the captain, holding the Eshu in his eyeline. "You dropped this on the sloop, sir." 

"Oh." He took the doll from Jack's hand, a little surprised, but very glad to see it. "That's where me lucky li'l mite went to." He looked at Jack gravely. "_Dead lucky_ he is, not to gone amiss, as he well might." 

Jack drew a breath and looked out on the horizon, hands behind his back. "Well, I wasn't certain he was ever wanted, you didn't seem to miss him that much... Horrid, useless thing that he is." 

Rafferty smiled kindly at the doll. "Aye, he's a strange one, t'is true, an' it doesn't seem t'do all that much, haulin' him around with me, but he's fer bringin' us good fortune, an' done that he has. I was afraid I lost 'em." 

"If it wasn't for Gabriel, you would have." 

"Then I'll be sure t'thank him, seein' as I grown quite attached to the li'l sod." The captain stuffed the doll away in the breast pocket of his coat and flashed Jack one of his cold, unreadable expression. "Good t'be back at sea, though." 

"_Aye_," Jack agreed emphatically, much relief and geniality in his voice. "Good and natural. Y'know, you can be rather fine company, when you want to be. A very jovial, sociable man --." 

"So, wrapped around your finger, am I?" 

"-- with _impeccable_ hearing." 

"I'd read of Jim Bash," Elizabeth reflected, "but I've never heard of any man having a monopoly on Oguaa." 

"Now ye know why," Jack yawned. "So, who's up for another story? I've still got that one about 'The Lady of Lesbos'?" 

Elizabeth gave Will a rigid glare. He looked from her to Jack. "It's probably very late," he said servilely. 

"Late?" said Gibbs. "It's only been two er three hours." 

"That **is** late," Elizabeth marked with cringe. "We'd best be getting back to our ship, now." 

"_Right_ now?" Jack asked, more anxiously than he'd hoped to sound. 

"Yes, I'm afraid so." 

"As you like it," he said, bitter now. 

Gibbs went to the door graciously. "I kin see ye out to the dock," he offered. 

"That's very gentlemanly of you," Elizabeth said. She and Will got to their feet languorously and joined Gibbs on his way to the door. 

"But you'll be wanting to return, I suppose?" Jack added in a peevish tone. "Well, whatever the case, I'll see you off with a drink." Before they could say anything, Jack gathered himself up from the chair and sallied over to them. 

"Actually," said Will, "I think we're late enough." 

Jack was too busy in his obvious dissapointment to notice Gibbs open the door all too suddenly. Jack stumbled back, trying to avoid being seen. "I'm sure it's alright," Elizabeth laughed, "I don't think you'll have much to fear from being spotted in Tortuga. Any they keep here are most likely, as yourself, not entirely glad of the Navy's attentions." She took Jack's wrist, playfully pulling him into to the doorway. "Don't lurk there, I can't bare seeing it. Not Jack Sparrow, 'to Youth and Freedom'." 

"You're making sport of me," Jack groused, rolling his eyes. 

"No, I wouldn't!" Elizabeth said sincerely. "But I cannot to go away thinking of you here alone, so worried as to flee from light. I couldn't live with it." 

"I'm hardly sweating, miss," he said. "But, I do appreciate the sentiment." With a movement almost too quick to catch, he was loose from her grip and had taken her hand up to his lips, now laying the small kiss on her knuckle. He kept her hand up and grinned devilishly. "Don't go taking any tin shillings, darling." 

She smiled warmly. "We'll be back again, soon," she said, walking away from him and holding his hand to the last before turning and strolling off contentedly with Gibbs. 

Jack folded his arms and turned back to the room to see Will standing there, almost vapidly unaware of the others' departure. Jack's expression seemed almost blank. "Prithee," Jack asked, "you say I am indeed responsible for your and Elizabeth's nuptuals, yes?" 

Will snapped his attention back in the moment, once again reminding Jack very much of Bill. "I do believe so," Will said honestly. "If it weren't for you, I would've lost her. On more than one occasion." 

For a moment, Jack seemed restless to some end. "It's enough," he admitted, "to see two young people come together, but especially when compatriots, and I must say, it makes me not a little proud know I had a hand in it." Jack kept his eyes roaming the hallway self-consciously; he could no longer deny himself a toothy, complacent smile. "Very glad I stepped in, now, but I'll tell y'true, _I could've had her_." 

"Well, I hope you come, anyway," Will laughed. "If you see fit, that is. No pressure; no promises." 

"Yeah,...it's now become a definite possiblity, and that's no minor acquisition. Notice, you always bring me around to your way of thinking?" 

"I'll try to do something about Norrington." 

Jack looked back to him, gesturing foppishly. "Gently, though, poor devil's in a fragile mental way. Mayhaps even in need of," he whispered grimly, "periodic convalescence." 

Will smirked. "Well, Governer Swan _has_ spoken to him of paid leave on a few occasions." 

"Oh, yes, that's a lovely way of putting it. It occures to me, though, the appropriate olive branch might be to have him as your best man? As an idea of where your loyalties lie?" 

"Um,...yes, it might be." Will looked at Jack expectantly, with lips pursed, as though he was holding something back. 

"You have But-Face," Jack said candidly, perfectly at ease in his frankness. 

Will was less at ease. "_What_?" he asked, taken completely offguard. 

Jack's brain made a backpedal. "You...looked like you were going to say, 'but'." 

"Oh... _But_...I thought that- I had _hoped_ that you-." 

Jack hushed Will with a wild flurish of his hand. "Sh. The commodore is a fine example, what becomes of the palm that cannot bend with the winds. You don't want to snap, do y'lad?" 

Will smiled, a bit sadly. "No. I suppose I'm still hanging-to a bit tightly. Doesn't seem like something you'd ever have trouble with." 

"Well, pardon the constant mixing of nautical metaphores, boy, it's fine and good to rope off the helm on occasion. But to roll with the waves, sometimes it's better just to step the hell back, and let the damned thing spin. Hate t'think that you haven't learned anything from me." 

Will put his hand on Jack's shoulder and affirmed him with an overly kind, almost patronizing conviction. "Neither would I." He left the room and walked down the hallway to catch-up the others; Jack was smiling and leaning back on the doorway, watching them go. His brows knit, though, and his smile faded. 

"Neither?" he slurred to himself. "What'd that mean, '_neither_'?" With a hand on the doorframe, he swung out to peer into the hallway. "Oi, Will? What's that supposed t'mean, eh? You think you're _hysterical_..." 


End file.
